


One Long River

by SugarMaddy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Human Experimentation, Implied Aleksandra "Zarya" Zaryanova/Mei-Ling Zhou (Freeform), Implied Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler - Freeform, Implied Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Implied Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes - Freeform, Implied Widowmaker | Amelie Lacroix/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mind Control, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Really really slow burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 175,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarMaddy/pseuds/SugarMaddy
Summary: "You ever hear a dragon beg?"The question hit Jesse like a sledgehammer, cold and unforgiving, but he held that black gaze as the monster chuckled and tapped its masked forehead with a clawed palm like it was remembering something important."Shit, what am I saying? Of course you have. You two have a little thing going, don't you? Or did, anyway."He circled around the chair until he was practically in McCree's ear, the stench of decay flaking around him in wisps of black smoke. He grabbed the man's jaw until Jesse's eyes were locked with Hanzo's passive gaze, and somewhere in the back of his head he wondered in agony if he could even see or hear them at all."I'm willing to bet it was better with me, though," Reaper chuckled darkly, shaking his head, "No, no, there's no comparing the way a dragon sounds when he's begging for death by your hands. It's the kind of thing dreams are made of. It's enough to give you chills."





	1. Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome! If you're reading this, you've decided to join me on my personal journey into McHanzo Hell. Glad you could be here. 
> 
> So, a few things: 
> 
> 1) This is my first work of fiction in a long, long time. I apologize in advance if there is odd wording, weird analogies, or grammatical errors. I don't have a beta so I'm doin' this all by my lonesome. Just bear with me. 
> 
> 2) I don't play Overwatch. I love the lore but just haven't gotten into the game proper. If I fuck up a reference or something, just let me know. I am going to be doing a decent amount of research, so please don't think I'm rolling into this half-assed.
> 
> 3) I love comments, but please keep the first two on this list in mind when you leave them. 
> 
> 4) This story is named after a song by the very talented Yoshida Brothers. Since music is crucial to my writing process, I'll be posting a short little playlist at the end of each chapter so you guys can listen to what I was listening to as I was visualizing all this. A lot of it will be traditional Japanese as the plot will be very Hanzo-focused, but also expect some random country for McCree and some electronica for fight scenes. Idk. It'll be random as shit.
> 
> And I think that's it! I'll probably be changing and editing things as I go, so expect some adjustments. 
> 
> Without further ado~

He’d been followed for three days. He hadn’t slept in six.

The rain that settled over the Japanese countryside pushed the world down and back; folded the modern into something primordial like wet origami paper. All sound was either lost or muted, quashed until there was nothing left but wind, water, rock and time. The soft spattering of rain against the roof tiles of scattered _pagoda_ was the only unnatural ambient sound next to his shallow breathing – the rest was muffled but organic. To the archer, tense and hunkered down upon a rooftop despite the deluge around him, it had become his own personal purgatory. Even when the rain vanished, the shiver that clung to his spine like a lover would still be there to remind him that it was still not over. It _never_ would be _._

He’d chosen this place because his home had been near there. As his legs pumped in their almost frantic pace, bullets shattering behind him and adrenaline fueling a haze behind his eyes, memories came back unbidden. Rivers of pink petals used to coat the stone-paved streets, floating from some otherworldly place to grace them with the beauties of springtime renewal. Tightly packed _machiya_ and shops had boxed in the milling pedestrians like a maze. He’d laughed there, let the spicy air tangle in his hair, carefree and hungry for what life had to offer. It had all seemed so colorful back then. Now it was gray and bitter against his tongue, filling his nostrils with the smell of petrichor. _Ash and bones._ It didn’t matter.

His muscles ached. The vantage point he’d chosen atop the jutting _machiya_ was hardly preferable (it wasn’t high enough, and only gave him 180 degrees of vision at best), but Hanzo could hardly be picky at a time like this. It would only be a short time before he’d see the black Lexus LS cresting the hillside and his time would be up. Rain be damned, he was going to settle himself before venturing back out into that world of black and red. For now it was calm. Although he hardly deserved even that much, Hanzo was willing to hold tight to the opportunity. Pick your battles before they pick you.

He grunted when he stretched by clenching his muscles in his crouched position, silently reveling in the _pop_ that echoed from his back and shoulders. Dagger-like eyes flicked hastily over the landscape in front of him for the hundredth time before he stood and stretched properly and gave a behemoth yawn, an arm above his head. Brazen _yakuza,_ with their machine guns and swords, would never be able to keep silent for this long. If they’d come to kill him, there would be no deliberation or caution about it. He had some time.

When he turned his shoulder lightly and dropped his hand, Storm Bow was waiting for him, as always. Rough callouses brushed over cold metal in a familiar gesture, like stroking a housecat. It was more for him, obviously; the bow would get no satisfaction from his ministrations. The action grounded him. He was backed to a wall, drenched and exhausted but still very much alive.

Six days. He’d not known unconsciousness in _six days_. Not since the castle. Not since the anniversary. Not since he’d been found.

  _Genji_.

It was rare that he ever strayed too far from his thoughts. It would be a cold day in Hell when that infectious smile, unrestrained optimism and insatiable love for life went silent in his memories. But with that chance meeting it all became warped and blurred into supercuts of hard stares, screams, and words said on bitten tongues. A metal man – his _brother_ \- standing at the ready, prepared to cut his bared throat and leave him to die as he had once done. Let it end _. Let it end._ When another chill wracked him and a faint howl of wind lapped at his skin, he pushed the memory away and turned his head to it as he’d done a thousand times before, allowing his eyes to shakily close. _Perhaps I am a fool for thinking that there is still hope for you, but I do._

The jerky he’d stolen from the corner store did little to tide him over. His stomach protested as he tore a meaty chunk from the strip with sharp incisors and began to chew, begrudgingly going back to his tiresome stake out. It was salty and had the texture of leather, but he would be happy for the protein when he was on the move again. The mediocre meat snack was thin, light, and would keep well in his pack unprotected. Small mercies.

He swallowed and repeated the action. _Rip. Chew. Watch. Repeat._ It was a familiar routine that once again let his mind wander. Through the rain and the mud, through the trees and the houses and the cobblestone streets – to the cold, imposing castle looming in the distance. To the place where he’d struck down his kin. _You are a fool._

Tires. He heard tires.

Hanzo was immediately crouching again, reeling backwards against the roof as if he intended to merge with it, Storm Bow nocked and ready in record time. Eyes narrowed and mouth in a tight slit, he settled himself and concentrated on breathing. If he were lucky, they’d keep moving. If he wasn’t, they’d come for him. Something told him he knew which one it was going to be.

Time was up.

Four long, black sedans crept over the hilltop like serpents, following the winding road until they came to rest a few hundred feet to his right beside a small, water stained shrine. Luckily no one else was milling about on a day like this with the weather being what it was, so when the six _yakuza_ exited the vehicles in their crisp black suits and with their guns slung heavy under their arms, no one went running. Correction: six in the front car, three in the second, four in the third and two in back. It was fifteen this time – they must have been getting desperate.

 _“Fucking rain,”_ one of them groused in garbled Japanese, settling a cigarette between his lips with spindly tattooed fingers and thick knuckles. He settled a large black handgun on his shoulder and looked around with heavy eyelids, thumbing his nose. He had feathery black hair that puffed and stuck up over his forehead, reminding Hanzo more of an angry Pomeranian than a man. _“Asshole had better be out here this time. I’m sick of this fucking ‘run and hide’ shit.”_

There were some low noises of agreement from the other brothers behind him, but none outwardly said anything.

 _“Quit being such a pussy, Futoshi,”_ came a response from the driver of the first car as he leaned out and slammed the door – a bald man with a thick neck who was clearly exasperated with his cohort. He had an Uzi slung under his shoulder. “ _You can get back to your sake and porno once the fucker swallows a bullet.”_ He looked up to the rooftops and scanned distractedly with squinted eyes before turning and angrily gesturing with two fingers to the three brothers from the second car. All of whom carried some form of sniper rifle.

 _“Get your asses up there!”_ he snarls, gruffly watching them panic and scramble around him like roaches to follow the directions. ‘ _Idiots,’_ Hanzo thought loftily from his perch, ‘ _How dangerous is a snake in the brush when you know where it lies to strike?’_

 _“Heyyyy, Shimada…,”_ the first brother – Futoshi – drawled lazily around him around the cigarette, though loudly enough so Hanzo could hear. “ _Why not come and get what’s comin’ to you, eh?”_ Dramatically biting his lip and bending his hips forward with a lascivious smirk, he proceeded to gratuitously grab himself through his slacks and thrust forward into his hand.

_“Come get some of this big cock like the bitch you are and maybe I’ll let you suck me off before we blast your brains on the pavement!”_

_“Shut up, idiot!”_ hissed the driver through the pattering of rain, eyes trained on the buildings before cocking his Uzi. Futoshi only snickered under his breath and continued to languidly step forward, one hand in his pocket while the other held the heavy handgun on his shoulder.

 _“You know you ain’t getting out of this alive, dogshit,”_ he continued, sounding thoroughly bored with the situation. _“That fancy bow of yours doesn’t have shit on my baby here.”_ As if he couldn’t get any more grotesque, he proceeded to run an unnaturally long tongue up the barrel of the weapon, grinning all the while to the empty rooftops around him.

Thoroughly disgusted by the display, Hanzo had been admittedly distracted. He hadn’t taken the time to watch a fourth man fan out with the snipers, climbing up the side of his very _machiya._ It wasn’t until he heard the muffled crack of a machine gun on the other side of the roof that he whipped around and leapt from his hiding crouch. It was only silent for a split second.

_“There! There! Motherfucker is on the roof!”_

Then it was chaos.

Each passing footstep across the slick roof barely dodged a spray of bullets that followed Hanzo like a dog, hurtling splinters of wood high into the air and dispersing them into the rain until he was in the air. He rolled, curled, and landed behind cover on another roof before dropping down to the pavement and slamming into the ground with a hard metal clash – metal on stone. With one hand on the slick stonework and the other gripping Storm Bow like a vice, he took one last concentrated glare at the men before him before he sprang.

Fifteen. Fifteen bodies would fall there that day.

The hood of the last black sedan buckled under his weight as he landed on it with one metal foot, drawing his bow down while he himself projected up, black fabric floating against a gray sky. A thin white arrow lodged itself in the soft spot between the neck and shoulder of the first panicked brother. _One._ The bow fit neatly over the throat of the close second when Hanzo landed behind him, wrenching him around when the spray of bullets finally landed in their direction like a swarm of bees. Red mist permeated the air as Hanzo held him, a choking human shield, and then unceremoniously dropped him to the side to nock another arrow. _Two._

Like poetry, three more arrows sprang from their hiding place like vipers and found their targets, cutting through the air like butter. One in the head, one in the chest, one in the throat – beautiful. _Three. Four. Five._ Then it was time to roll again, this time between two sedans as the thick rifle bullets ricocheted off the chrome bumpers, aimed for his head. They caught no flesh, instead ripping seams in the once pristine black alloy. Some snipers they were. It didn’t take much to knock the gun from the next one’s slippery hands and uppercut him hard, the wind spewing from his lungs in a loud exhale. A low sweep of the legs cut him down where he doubled over, and it took no time at all to nock another arrow and send it careening down between the man’s clenched eyes. _Six._

 _“Fucking asshole!”_ snarled the bald one, furious narrowed eyes trained on Hanzo as he held steady to the clattering Uzi. He made no effort to conserve his ammunition when Hanzo was on the move again. They all pulsed through the drops of rain as he sidled around the cars in an effort to catch the archer as he pulled himself up and began to climb again. A careless sniper on the roof had lost sight of him and paid for it with a powerful kick to the face, blood and teeth coating the roof tiles in a haphazard red hue. He fell to the ground with a clatter, Hanzo sealing the deal with an arrow to the back once he hit the ground. _Seven._

Futoshi was yelling obscenities from his hiding position, crouched around a wall with his gun pulled to his chest. His eyes were manic, that puffed hair now slick with rain and sweat as he struggled to pinpoint where Hanzo had settled. Breathing hard and angry, it was hard for the remaining eight to admit that they had lost him again. When they finally did, the echo of bullets stopped. Maybe they’d clipped him. Maybe they’d gotten lucky. Maybe he was just around the corner, bleeding out like the seven he’d downed.

Not a chance.

The drop of a body to the ground was the only signal they had that another one of the snipers had met an untimely end. The corpse landed with a dull thud beside Futoshi, who watched the display with something akin to horror and then trained his wide eyes upwards. Then another strangled cry echoed around the corner from him, a tarnished, twitching metal prosthetic hand against the ground the only indication of the body that was quietly bleeding into the storm drain near his loafers. _Eight. Nine._

How could he be this _fast_? This bastard couldn’t be human. No one armed with just a goddamn bow and arrow could do this much damage alone. Futoshi cursed under his breath, this time a bit shakily, and after steeling himself, whipped around the corner with his weapon drawn. He faced…nothing. Like a ghost, Hanzo was gone.

 _“Where the fuck is he?!”_ howled the driver from where his back was pressed to one of the cars on the street. He was reloading clumsily, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere but where they should be.

 _“How the fuck should I know, goddamn it!?”_ was Futoshi’s broken growl in reply. He ducked back around the corner again and pressed his back against it like his life depended on it. Honestly, it probably did.

The hollow sound of the rain from the gutters soon eased its way back into focus as the echoes of the carnage dissipated. The soft _drip, drip, drip_ almost mocked the uneven pace of their heartbeats as the remaining _yakuza_ let their black wingtips scuffle across the wet stone, Futoshi and the driver excluded. In the distance, a _shishi-odoshi_ clocked against the stone bowl at its base, only for the hollow bamboo to tip upwards and refill again. It was calm again.

In their frantic search above and around themselves, the remaining brothers had unknowingly hopped down from the rooftops and bunched together, back to back in a tight circle towards a garden a few feet from the scene. Fight or flight instinct – you were safer in a group than you were on your own. _Foolish._

A well-timed scatter arrow freed that notion from their heads. As well as a few other things. All four fell to the ground in unison, grunting when hard rock met soft knees and eventually shoulders. _Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen._ Then it was quiet again.

 _“Shit. Shit shit **shit**!” _ Futoshi hissed, clenching his eyes shut momentarily before willing them open, afraid to miss even a second lest the archer drop down before him like some deadly shadow. “ _Oh god…oh god fucking damn it…”_

 _“Futoshi! Do you have eyes on him?!”_ yelled the driver, his Uzi propped up on the roof of the vehicle. Thoroughly soaked and panicked, Futoshi curled his way around the corner to loll his head in his direction until their eyes met, teeth bared. He shook his head adamantly, spreading his feet a bit wider to balance himself and licked his lips. Okay. He could do this. This was just one man. He was a _yakuza_ for Christ’s sake – he’d drenched himself in the blood of his enemies before. This was just _one man_ with a _bow_ and some _sticks._

The short burst of gunfire followed by the dull sound of bone cleaved said otherwise. When Futoshi looked back, the driver was draped over the hood of the car, eyes wide and unseeing, with a pristine white arrow sticking from between his eyes. Blood had only just begun to pool around him. It’d happened in only the blink of an eye. _Fourteen._

Fuck.

_“Do you care to enlighten me on what my chances are again?”_

It was the voice of a man who hadn’t needed words for some time – coarse and harsh like the texture of burnt wood. It went all around and through him like a spectral wind, and soon Futoshi was seriously contemplating dropping his gun, changing his name to ‘Lucky’ and moving back in with his parents to help run their bookstore. It wasn’t until the figure dropped in front of him that he abandoned that course of action and drew his weapon.

Hanzo was not tall and imposing by any means. He stood at an unimpressive 5’8”, barely standing at eye-level with the now shaking Futoshi, leaning into his face. But from the way Futoshi’s eyes widened and by the unearthly scream that erupted from his throat, the archer could have very well been the Devil himself.

_“ **You are fucking dead Shimad-!”**_

 He barely managed to get a shot off, the bullet careening through Hanzo’s left shoulder and cleaning exiting, before it was all over. A harsh snap, the crumple of a body, and Hanzo was dazedly looking down at another broken neck to add to his list. Silence. You could count the seconds by his heartbeat as it finally slowed, and somewhere in the distance that _shishi-odoshi_ clunked again.

_Fifteen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! And we're off!
> 
> Hanzo why are you like this
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/9C1aBi0hbEA) Tabidachi (Starting on a Journey) - Yoshida Brothers  
> (https://youtu.be/MgN_xIHqLUA) Kodo - Yoshida Brothers  
> (https://youtu.be/K7yTeF9ajcw) Battle Without Honor or Humanity - Tomoyasu Hotei
> 
>  
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	2. Betty or Veronica?

“I do not understand.” The small softback booklet turned sideways and the pages were flipped through by gargantuan fingers, pages dogeared and wrinkled, before the booming voice continued, “…how can this… _Archie_ be infatuated with both the blonde one and the rich one?”

“Betty and Veronica,” came the absentminded reply as a flask was opened and a generous amount of whiskey was poured into a nearby mug of otherwise black coffee. The man rolled a thick cigarillo between his teeth distractedly, staring down at the playing cards in his hand while the other, slightly more _mechanical_ appendage rapped its fingertips against the table.

“An’ I reckon that’s the million-dollar question, ain’t it? If’n ya find out the answer, kindly lemme know, would ya Reinhardt ol’ pal? It’s clear just bein’ handsome ain’t enough, otherwise I’d be _swimmin’_ in-“

“It just makes no sense, my friend!” The older man continued, blessedly barreling through whatever his companion had to say before he could say it. The back of a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt slapped the offending book like it’d insulted his mother. “Too much complication for such a simple thing! You meet the girl, you woo the girl, you grow old with the girl. So simple!”

“You’re too much of a Jughead to be swimming in anything, McCree,” the woman across the table quipped, smirking at her own set of cards. Delicate fingers rearranged them again for the tenth time over before she raised her eyes and rolled them. “Now quit stalling and throw down. I’m going to die of boredom at this rate.” She playfully kicked the rugged man sitting across from her with a well-angled foot, the gold bangles in her dark hair tinkling against each other from the effort.

“ _Blasphemy!”_ crowed McCree with wide eyes, his free hand coming up to press over his heart in feigned offense. “I got way more goin’ for me than _Jughead._ You’re just ruffled ‘cuz I’m kickin’ your ass, Fareeha.”

“Whateeever you say, Juggie. Just _do something!”_ she insisted, a faint Egyptian accent flowing over her tongue.

“Naw, I ain’t lettin’ this injustice stand!” he fussed, standing up out of his chair so that he could pointedly toss his cards down (face down, mind you) and gesture wildly to the other figure that was sitting cross-legged behind him.

“C’mon, Genj, back me up here!”

The lithe cyborg, who had since been avoiding the conversation tilted his head to the side in an expression of amused confusion. The katana stretched across his lap glinted under the old rag he was polishing it with. When he spoke, the metallic warp of his faceplate accented his lilting Japanese accent with something more artificial. Like he was speaking through an air conditioning vent.

“I am afraid I am not familiar with this character,” he replied with a hint of laughter in his voice. “If you described him to me maybe I would be willing to offer my opinion.” Still listening, he turned his attention back to the sword which he then buffed devotedly.

“He appears to have an insatiable appetite and spends much of his time lazing about,” Reinhardt thundered from his place on the couch, still twisting the comic like a steering wheel as if it would somehow make more sense that way. “How the boy remains so thin is beyond me.”

“That _does_ seem to bear a bit of resemblance, I’m afraid.” Genji muttered, chuckling at McCree’s indignant sputtering in the background.

“He’s also got a stupid hat,” Fareeha added, resting her chin in her hand with a lopsided smile.

“Bing-go,” Genji sing-songed in reply.  Although it was impossible to tell behind the face plate, when Genji flicked the rag in McCree’s direction, he was grinning.

The cowboy, who had gone red in the ears from the good-natured ribbing, settled into a fine glare and flopped back down into his chair. With tightly folded arms, he tipped forward the Stetson in question until it darkened his brow beneath the brim. Taking the cigar from his lips into one hand, he jabbed it at the offending parties around him.

“Y’all are dead to me.”

 “Meetin’ in twenty, luvs!” a cheery voice interrupted from the door to the hall, the spritely young girl with a thick crop of brown hair tipping her head in with a beaming grin. “Winston’s got some things he wants to go over. Oh, an’ Genji, he’s itchin’ for that debriefing of your trip to Japan. Two birds and all that.”

A collective groan washed over the room like it was filled with a bunch of petulant children, but they all rose from their tasks dutifully anyway. When the cowboy moved away from the old folding table they’d been playing at, Fareeha took a sneak peek at McCree’s cards and snorted. She was right about him stalling. His hand was shit.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar had seen better days. Docked precariously into the nook of a seaside cliff on the coast of the Iberian Peninsula, it looked more like some giant, high-tech clubhouse than an actual base of operations for a formerly defunct hero group. The main hall was dark and a bit dusty, but the towering ceilings and myriad of various science equipment got the point across. Winston had obviously been the first to return there to prompt the recall, but from the looks of things he’d been much too busy to focus on tidying up the place. Which was understandable given the circumstances. It took a lot of manpower to collect data, track down names and locations, bypass public data routes and update obsolete tech – considering that he was only operating with Athena’s assistance for so long and had still managed to be successful was astounding. The ape-turned-scientist had been extremely grateful that she’d survived using her copious backup generators.

Four main hallways connected to the main entryway in a lazy arch, two rising to a secondary floor via gradual ramps and stairs while two wrapped down and around towards the back. The upper floors were for dormitories and various living facilities while the two on the bottom contained the med lab, science lab, two conference rooms and an out-of-date elevator that led to the basement training facilities and storage. The dormitories were sparse but numerous, looking more like some cramped hospital with their white sliding doors and small nameplate placards beside them. The real kicker was the fact that only a few of the end units contained actual showers. More like a college dormitory, the rest of the occupants that hadn’t been blessed with the foresight to choose one were relegated to using the communal showers down the hall. Although most of them hadn’t commented on the fact, opinions ranged from _‘aw fuck why’_ to _‘oh thank god for running water.’_ For the first few days it’d spit brown before running clear. The pipes still groaned and occasionally shuddered like old men getting out of bed.

Fareeha “Pharah” Amari, Lena “Tracer” Oxton, Wilhelm Reinhardt and the gunslinger Jesse McCree all shuffled into the big conference room to the left and took their seats around the thick gray table, chatting and teasing each other amiably. The lone cyborg Genji Shimada preferred to loiter by the righthand wall with his arms crossed, although it was hardly a show of distaste for his compatriots - his katana simply dug into his back when he sat down.

Dr. Angela “Mercy” Zeigler floated in quickly after, her blonde hair tightly pulled back and her white coat pristine despite her almost constant look of utter exhaustion. Even when the woman was feeling haggard and beaten down she looked practically angelic, a fact that she would deny adamantly if mentioned with pure and sincere modesty. The team had been lucky to have her as their only medic, and while this often meant she was plagued with more patients than free time, she was diligent and serious when it came to providing excellent care.

The engineer Torbjorn was hot on her heels grumbling all the while in low Swedish– he’d been in the med lab almost all-day due to a bad burn on his exposed left shoulder, caused by a turret malfunction. The man was almost all mechanic already. He was going to do his best to keep the few organic parts he had left. His nose was still a ruddy shade of red thanks to the backlash, and if you looked closely enough you could see a few singed hairs lingering amongst others in his beard. He always smelled like a lawnmower.

Winston already headed the room when everyone entered and took their places, tapping the screen of a small tablet with his thick primate digits. He was an imposing figure, hulking over almost everyone except for Reinhardt as he cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. Unfortunately for him, almost everyone in the room knew that he was more concerned with global news, peanut butter and Athena to ever be _that_ intimidating. Unless shit really hit the fan.

“Alright, guys, let’s make this brief,” he started, reaching forward to press a few buttons located in the console behind him. Without asking her to, Athena dimmed the lights and flipped on the holovid, projecting a gridded orange globe. Locations were dotted sporadically, including all of Overwatch’s former bases which were now almost entirely abandoned.

“First off, let me remind everyone that hot water is a _luxury_ and not a right. We can’t keep going around leaving showers and faucets running while doing laundry. It just doesn’t make fiscal sense, and honestly the environment will thank you.”

“Yes _dad.”_ Fareeha drawled under her breath with an exaggerated eyeroll, earning a deep snicker from McCree. At Winston’s pointed stare, he quickly cleared his throat to cover it. Averting his eyes, the cowboy took a loud slurp from his lukewarm coffee and did his best to look innocent.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Winston continued, lowering his spectacles to eye the agenda on his tablet again, “Athena is going to be running some precautionary tests to her core systems this week, so be mindful when you’re taking the elevator or in the training facility. With all the excess energy we’re expending thanks to the recall and our increased use of the base, things might get a little…twitchy.”

“Damn elevator’s always been a nuisance,” Torbjorn grumbled, extending his clamped appendage so that it gripped the table’s edge. “I don’t know why you all refuse to just let me fix it.”

“Because for the last time, we _do not_ need an elevator that has the potential to shoot its occupants with scalding rivets. Are you _attempting_ to make my job harder?” Mercy sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“All I’m saying is it never hurts to improve upon the classics. What good is a moving metal box if the moving metal box cannot kill intruders?” he responded gruffly, which earned him a heavy slap on the back from Reinhardt and a not-so-keen deadpan from Mercy and Winston simultaneously. Winston sighed heavily for what felt like the hundredth time that day and forged on ahead.

“Currently we have no missions scheduled until systems go back online fully and Athena runs her checks. However I’m asking that everyone be prepared to run a few small recon missions in the meantime to gather intel. We still have to lay low since, you know, even being in this room together is technically illegal. Agents McCree and Shimada – you two will probably be spearheading these since you two have the most experience.”

“Hate damn recon missions.” McCree grumbled, folding his elbows up onto the table and resting his chin on his arms. What was the point of even _having_ a gun if you didn’t get to shoot the damn thing?

“Speaking of recon excursions,” Winston continued, eyeing Genji over the top of the tablet curiously, “any news from Hanamura?”

There was a silent understanding of what he meant. Mercy visibly stiffened in her seat and glanced away tensely as Genji stood at a little more attention, though he clearly was less visibly bothered over the situation than she was. McCree simply sat up and glanced over his shoulder to give the man a bit more attention, eyebrows raising towards his hairline.

“No major developments, I am afraid. The _bōryokudan_ are still as prevalent as ever, even with their present legal status hanging by a thread. I was able to scout a few of the more heavily populated areas around there, but no one was willing or able to discuss anything even remotely resembling the trade of illegal omnic tech. Even when a bit more…force was applied. I eventually had to backtrack and then lost the lead entirely.” 

“And your, uh… _other_ bit of business?”

Genji’s shoulders fell a bit at the question. Admittedly he’d been distracted when he’d set foot back in the place of his birth, and as much as he was hesitant to, he blamed his lack of focus on his personal affairs. The night at Shimada castle and the memory of his blade at his brother’s throat had hung in his thoughts like black mist, refusing to be shaken off.

“I will just say that it was not a very…warm reunion.” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “My brother was…in a much worse state than I’d initially anticipated.”

“Wait. This _the_ brother? Like, your _brother_ brother?” McCree finally asked, red serape falling more over his back as he turned completely in his seat. “The _fuck_ you go trackin’ him down for?”

“ _McCree.”_ Fareeha hissed, smacking him with the back of her hand and glaring when he whipped around to gawk at her.

“Naw, I’m serious. That makes about as much sense as tits on a bull.”

Sheepishly, Genji raised a hand to the back of his neck and scratched, pointedly tilting his head towards the door and away from his fuming friend. It was a nervous gesture he’d held onto from when he was a boy.

“I…asked to go.”

“You did _what?_ ” McCree asked in a raised voice, causing a hushed murmur to spread over those around him. Luckily, Winston intervened.

“Now, there’s hardly reason to be upset over this. Genji made a formal request a few weeks ago and seeing as it was an ample opportunity to grab some extra information as well, I approved it. The yakuza have long-since been dipping their fingers in the black market omnic trade and using their influence to spread the tech where it doesn’t belong. We needed someone with experience to be our eyes and ears over there. Genji is more than capable, so it wasn’t really deemed necessary to pass along _every_ nuance of his trip. As you can see, he clearly came home unscathed.”

“That ain’t the _point.”_ McCree persisted, making a fist with his metal hand on the table. “I’m sure I ain’t gotta explain _why_ it ain’t the point, right? Guy’s a downright bastard, slices and dices you halfway to Hell, and you waltz your way back over to say ‘ _hey, how ya doin’_?’ Am I the only one ‘round here that gives a shit about this?”

“Jesse,” Genji pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder. His voice was soft, though it only succeeded in placating the man slightly. “I had to make the journey for myself. You may not understand my intentions, but please try to consider the perspectives of all sides… A great teacher once said ‘ _no matter how hard the past, you can always begin again._ ’ I must do what I can to believe that. For myself and for him.”

Jesse clenched his jaw and glared down at the table, dull sparks of anger boiling in his gut. But he was right, as much as he was pained to admit it. Hell, if anyone knew about the possibility for redemption it was McCree and he sure as shit was grateful for that. Besides, what did it matter? They were here and fratricidal maniac was there. It wasn’t like he was gonna come struttin’ up to the front gates.

**_“Intruder detected.”_ **

Fuck.

The tension broke with Athena’s confident announcement over the loudspeakers, garish red alerts flashing behind and in front of Winston from the holovids. Everyone in the room stood quickly and made for the door, McCree flashing Genji a firm ‘ _we will talk about this later’_ expression that left no room for argument. He replaced the cigarillo between his teeth and unholstered Peacekeeper from his side, flicking out the cylinder to check that she was loaded. Six shots. His baby was always so good to him.

“How many?” Winston asked the ceiling, quickly but calmly ushering out with the rest on heavy knuckles. “Talon agents?”

**_“Preliminary tech scans are coming back negative for known Talon weaponry. I am picking up a lone heat signature near the Eastern perimeter, moving approximately 24 miles per hour parallel to the barrier. Their position in relation to ground level changes rapidly – I am having a difficult time staying tuned to their location. It would appear they are attempting to find a breach in my security.”_ **

“That’s damn fast. They some kind of Mexican jumpin’ bean sprinter or somethin’?” McCree idly commented, too immersed in his ritualistic task to even notice when Genji moved away from him and focused entirely on the security cam footage that Athena had brought up. He sure as hell got everyone’s attention when he finally _did_ speak, albeit hushed amidst the hustle and bustle.

“…no, but close enough. That’s Hanzo. I guess it was his turn to visit me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be trying to update this like once a week. No promises, but that's the plan, if not faster. Just sayin'
> 
> Playlist for this Chapter (This is a random one, sorry not sorry): 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/xyL4c_LDCl0) Fantastic Man - William Onyeabor  
> (https://youtu.be/Jj8YuObEUak) Merlinfist! - Mux Mool  
> (https://youtu.be/2-K4r0Q8TK0) Algebra - Soul Hooligan
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	3. "You look like shit."

The alarms that surrounded the Watchpoint were blaring loudly all around now, earsplitting and seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. His approach had been heralded by spinning red lights. He’d seen the turrets from a distance, poised like gargoyles ready to spring, but in his current state Hanzo hadn’t been bothered to give them anything more than a cursory glance. If he stopped, even for a second, he was sure he would go down and would not be getting back up again. He catalogued a turret for each hundred feet of exposed barrier, gun barrels long and imposing as they struggled to lock onto his breakneck pace and cut his legs out from under him. But Hanzo had tunnel-vision, gasping for breath as he pummeled his metal feet into the soft clay of the cliffside.

The last time he’d seen his own reflection in a pool of stagnant water and before his vision had become too blurry to make out details, his skin had taken on the sickly hue of dried egg white. He was grateful for the lapse in his vision, but not for the way his own tepid sweat made his hair cling to his temples.

Hanzo had been careless. Careless and very, _very_ foolhardy.

Back in that shadowy suburb of Hanamura where Hanzo had left him, Futoshi’s corpse was bloating in the sun and belching up flies as it silently laughed at his misfortune. It’d given its murderer one last parting gift – a wound to ignore and neglect until infection set in. And all of it was thanks to the once-clean shot to the shoulder, barely clipping the edge of Hanzo’s tattoo. He was practically a dead man walking, made haggard by pain and overexertion. But this couldn’t have been his fault. None of it. He’d cleaned it, bandaged it and move on just as he’d done before. _‘Liar_ ,’ a niggling thought pressed when he’d been wracked by cough, _‘you only did what you felt was deserved.’_

How had he even gotten this far? Hanzo didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks and his sleeping habits were tragic. His level of self-preservation had gone by the wayside long ago. The archer hadn’t even noticed the symptoms of his affliction until after he’d stowed away on the filthy omnic barge on the coast, rusted and looming against a dreary dapple sky. Exhaustion had set in within minutes within the dark shipping container. After almost a week of sporadically nodding off and zoning out, sleep _finally_ consumed him entirely as he was lulled by the rocking waves and constant thrumming of machinery. If you could even call it sleep. It had been as dreamless and dismal as his surroundings. He’d woken up shaken and clammy, Storm Bow locked in a grip that could press coal into diamond. It took the archer a moment to right himself as confusion and fever had started to take hold. What was he doing? Why was he there?

Genji. He’d gone to follow Genji.

What else could he possibly do? Where else could he go? The sliver of hope he’d heard in Genji’s voice that night at the castle had acted like a candle in the far corner of a dark room – he’d wanted to snuff it out, but even he was aware that there was no other source of light in his world now. Now all that pushed him on was adrenaline…and even that was dwindling by the minute. And he knew it.

So there he was: running like a madman into the jaws of danger and complete uncertainty, convinced that answers would only be forthcoming if he broke in and forced them out of who -- _what_ was once his brother. The years hadn’t been kind to the older Shimada. Diplomacy had failed time and time again and words were useless. The only tried and true method of problem-solving was through force.

The turrets were… a bit of a challenge. They followed him with their unseeing eyes, twitching when their trajectory altered. Hanzo’s grip was shaky as he tried to nock an arrow and lock onto one from a distance, and he fumbled upon release when the bowstring slipped. The arrow struck the side of the metal contraption with a clink and ricocheted off to the side uselessly. Hanzo cursed under his breath. He’d _missed._ He _never_ missed.

He tried again, this time managing to lodge one of the arrow heads in a gear close to the base of a turret in the center. It attempted to swivel as he moved again and caught fast against the unyielding foreign clog. Quickly it began to overheat due to the increased friction. A crackle of electricity and sparks began to fly like firecrackers. Taking the signal, Hanzo grunted and surged forward, scaling the wall. He slipped a few times – yes, actually _slipped_ – and had to regain his footing while the turrets cranked out bullets all around him. Hardly discouraged, he slammed his metal toes into the softer stone to gain leverage. After an agonizingly slow pace compared to previously, he found his target and grappled his way to hang from the disabled turret’s gun barrel. With eyes narrowed and chest heaving, he trained his gaze to the movement around him.

A hundred feet away on either side, two turrets twisted to face him like hunting owls and locked onto him. Under his hands he could feel the gathering of energy, vibrating into his bones as they prepared to deliver a deadly blow. He waited. Breathe. _In. Wait. Out._

The energy released. Both turrets blasted into gear _right_ as he swung himself up with powerful forearms, and it only took a moment of hesitation before he was rolling against a hard surface. Behind him, the turret he’d clung to exploded in a cloud of debris – a victim of friendly fire from the two on either side. Finding that he had cover at his back, Hanzo sank back against it and allowed his head to loll. The turrets couldn’t see him there. He had a minute.

“My _baby!_ What did you do to my _beautiful_ _turret?!”_

Well, maybe less than a minute.

When the alarms eased back and fell into silence, Hanzo could have honestly cried. His head felt like a grenade with the pin pulled, and even with the small man growling out obscenities at him from the far corner of the rooftop, Hanzo was relieved. Well, until his brain caught up with the rest of him, that is. After a momentary wobble, he was in fighting position with Storm Bow drawn as he watched several more people exit a rooftop door with weapons drawn. The grumbling man was the only one not acutely staring in his direction, focused more instead on the downed piece of machinery twitching listlessly above Hanzo’s head. The dwarf’s metal claw snapped at the distracted archer indignantly while his other hand rested on his bald head.

“I just got the damn things operational yesterday! Took me four days! _Four days!”_

“Maybe not th’ best time, Torb,” growled a man to his left. Hanzo could barely restrain arching an eyebrow, even as he stared down the barrel of a heavy-looking handgun. Had…had he just interrupted some sort of costume party?

“Drop your weapon.” _That_ command had come from an honest-to-goodness ape in some sort of astronaut suit. Hanzo’s grip loosened only a bit, but only because he was beginning to question his sanity. Was he so far gone that he’d started hallucinating? He was staring at an angry Swedish dwarf, a half-metal cowboy and a fucking _space monkey._ Yeah, he was losing it.

“On behalf of the Overwatch team at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, I order you to drop your weapon and hold up your hands.” It was the ape again. Hanzo couldn’t tear himself away from the angry-looking teeth that crowned every time the gorilla formed a word. It barely even registered what he was saying until he heard the telltale click of a gun hammer moving into place. Hanzo had almost completely forgotten the others beside the imposing animal – the tall cowman, a small smirking brunette and the scowling mechanical dwarf.

“You heard the man. Real _slooow_ -like, princess. Put the bow down along with any other sharp lil’ gadgets y’might be carryin’ and raise those mitts of yours sky high.” That was the cowboy this time. Hanzo eyed him warily as his muscles began to quake, unable to keep up being held taut for so long.  If the ape hadn’t been strange enough, the man with the Stetson looked like he’d just blown in from some Western post-apocalyptic fiction. The archer’s eyes raked over him, taking in the wide-brimmed hat, blunt and half-consumed cigar, clumsy-looking heavy armor across his chest and tucked into - were those actual _chaps? -_  and the _absurdly_ oversized metallic belt buckle that spelled out ‘BAMF’ resting at his waist. All of that and more, finished off with some tattered-looking red _horse blanket_ while pointing a six-shooter at him.

He was too utterly ridiculous to be intimidating. Even with the gun.

But Hanzo had been staring for just a _bit_ too long, and the gunslinger shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Uh…y’think he speaks English? Or do I gotta pull a damn Japanese-to-English translator out of my ass?” he asked softly out of the corner of his mouth to the short brunette beside him, who just shrugged, snorted, and smiled a little wider.

“Genji said he did,” the gorilla responded matter-of-factly.

_Genji._

“Where is he?” God, his own voice sounded like _Hell –_ like he’d gargled with metal shavings _._ The group seemed to jump out of their cautious stupor with wide eyes, all trained on the unsteady man in front of them. Now it was Hanzo’s turn to not get a response, though he wasn’t sure if it was simply due to surprise or ignorance.

“Where. Is. Genji.” Hanzo asked again slowly, baring his teeth a little more with each word. He was getting dizzy. Everything was swaying.

“He’s inside,” the ape responded finally, frowning a bit at the display. “Lay down your weapon, allow yourself to be taken into custody peacefully, and we’ll take you to him.”

“You take me for a fool?” Hanzo snapped, adjusting his weight on the balls of his feet. He noticed the way the cowboy’s eyes glanced downwards over him and then back up again, his stern glare replaced with one of curiosity. The gorilla only raised both hands in mock defense, managing a forced smile.

“I promise. He’s just inside those doors. Due to your, uh… _obvious_ hostility, we encouraged him to remain inside until we got a chance to negotiate with you. But if you cooperate, maybe talk to us a little, there would be absolutely no reason why we couldn’t-“

“ _Enough!_ ”

Hanzo silently cursed himself for how strained he sounded as he watched Winston’s mouth snap closed. The outburst caused the gunslinger’s finger to tighten just a hair more on the trigger and the gun to raise, fixed on an imaginary point between Hanzo’s eyes. But the archer just clenched his jaw and took a deep breath through his nostrils, daring any of them to make a move. A dragon does not _bow._ A dragon does not halt the raging inferno to _talk_.

“ _Brother, calm yourself!”_

Like a healing balm, there he was – the cyborg reincarnation of the man that shared Hanzo’s lineage, bursting through the rooftop door with one hand balanced on the hilt of his _wakizashi_ while the other was held aloft ahead of him to urge Hanzo to ease his resistance. The Sparrow trotted gracefully until he was in front of his comrades. Genji lowered his shoulders and released the hold on his weapon to disarm the other man once Hanzo showed no obvious inclination towards violence. He spoke evenly and calmly in smooth Japanese, his artificial voice floating to Hanzo in little more than a whisper. From the confused looks he was getting, none of the other members of his party understood him – a little fact to hide away for another time. If there managed to _be_ another time.

_“You are amongst allies. There is no danger here.”_

Hanzo snorted and curled his lip, making no move to relax. His muscles were screaming in protest now. With the way the world began to waver and ripple in front of him, he was lucky to still be standing. _God,_ he was tired.

“Told you to _stay inside_ , Genj,” McCree muttered, eyes still focused on Hanzo. With the way he tensed, Hanzo could glean that the cowboy was worried for his brother’s safety. _That_ wrenched a bit of sadness from that dark pit in Hanzo’s stomach. _‘Once a danger, always a danger,’_ he thought ruefully. The amount of reasons for him to regret this little adventure mounted by the minute.

 _“Sheath your bow and let us discuss this,_ ” Genji continued while ignoring the other man, slowly creeping towards the archer like he was a spooked horse. Hanzo’s eyes darted this way and that while he pressed himself closer to the wall at his back, casing exit points in case he would need to make a getaway. He’d have no such opportunity -  Genji’s arm suddenly snapped out like a viper and grabbed the edge of the bow.

With one fluid movement, he whipped Hanzo’s surprised form around, over his back, and planted him flat on his back, Storm Bow’s edge directed at his throat. The archer shook his head and hissed at the headache that exploded behind his eyelids like an atom bomb. Taken down within seconds, all thanks to his own damn grip on his own damn weapon.   _Pathetic_.

Genji seemed to agree, though he sounded much more lighthearted about the entire thing. Of _course_ he did.

_“Shit, Brother. I didn’t think I’d actually get you with that one.”_

Hanzo cracked an eye open to focus up at him and bristled, making sure to tilt his chin out of the sharp edge’s range. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure Genji was smirking behind that mask of his. It only made Hanzo’s expression darken. But it wasn’t the only thing that was darkening – blackness had started to creep in on either side of Hanzo’s eyes like a fog rolling in. None of this was going according to plan.

 _“Have you always kept the company of clowns and animals, or is this_ another _new development of yours?”_ Hanzo growled, hardly hiding the way he was sizing Genji up as an enemy. The cyborg seemed nonplussed, giving a gentle shrug before retracting the weapon and extending a hand. Hanzo’s expressions comedically shifted from one of panic, to surprise, to disdain much to Genji’s never ceasing amusement. He always did like getting under his skin.

 _“You look like shit,”_ he jabbed with a sing-song tone, his helpful hand still in place to help his brother stand.

Hanzo pushed the offending hand away and turned his gaze to the three others that stood out on the roof, all of whom were watching the interaction with mixed emotions. The shorter girl next to the cowboy was the first to lower her own weapons, eyes wide and intrigued now that Hanzo had had the wind taken out of his sails. After a second of hesitation, the stupid cowman flicked the hammer of the gun forward with a disappointed grunt, spun it, and holstered it. The sight of it almost made Hanzo want to throw up.

He unsteadily stood, snatched Storm Bow from Genji’s offending hand, and sheathed it with all the maturity of an angry toddler. His head hurt too much to even contemplate starting another fight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be pissed that Genji had gotten the better of him so easily. And in front of others, no less. He folded his arms and did his best attempt at looking perfectly fine, all while he was sweating profusely and dying for a blanket at the same time. He’d already shown them enough weakness for one day.

“Are uh…are we all right then, Genji luv?” the girl asked after a beat, cocking her head to the side until her weightless brown hair tipped over her oversized goggles. She was British, Hanzo surmised, and sounded much too cheery to have been so dangerous just a moment before. Just who the hell were these people?

“Ah, yes. I do apologize. Hanzo has always enjoyed a bit of theatrics,” Genji laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his head again in that boyishly nervous habit. He always had been quick to diffuse conflicting situations, and the speed in which the tension fizzled out was enough to make your head spin.

“You call _destroying my turret_ ‘a bit of theatrics’? I swear when I get my claws on him-“

“Torbjorn. We can discuss this inside,” the ape interrupted, a large hand at the chest keeping the smaller man at bay, “The destruction of Overwatch property notwithstanding, I’m sure that if Genji is willing to vouch for – Hanzo, right? – if Genji is willing to vouch for Hanzo, he’s okay enough to at least come in and have an adult conversation.”

McCree sputtered indignantly and whipped his head around to Winston, who simply raised an eyebrow at him. That was Winston for you – trying to use diplomacy to save the world, one man at a time. Even if that meant inviting an attempted murderer inside their base to have tea and crumpets with his victim.

“The guy parkours his way in here, blasts a hole in th’wall, brandishes a deadly weapon an’ we’re just gonna roll out the red carpet because Genj tripped him? The _fuck_ , Winston?” Oh lord, he even _sounded_ like a cowboy.

“I didn’t say that,” Winston corrected sharply, shaking his head and adjusting his spectacles without looking at him. “We need all the information we can get, McCree. And if Mr. Shimada is willing to turn over his weapons temporarily and uh, answer some questions, I don’t really see the harm in conversing a bit. I, for one, am willing to give him a chance.”

At the mention of giving over Storm Bow again, Hanzo gripped it tightly and eyed them all with a ‘try it’ look. Sensing movement, McCree’s eyes went back to him and darkened considerably, matching his challenge with one of his own. The crackle of energy that sizzled through the air between them was palpable, and it caused the smaller British girl near McCree’s arm to awkwardly blow raspberries from the corner of her mouth to fill the void with some uncomfortable noise. Winston shook his head and pursed his lips and the one called Torbjorn simply glared Hanzo down like he’d just mowed down his prized rose bushes. And for a few breaths they all sort of…stared at each other like that, letting their thoughts fill their eyes. Thankfully, their reprieve came when a huge hand connected to a huge arm bashed the door open, followed by the head of an older man with a wild mane of gray hair.

“Hah! I see we have another mouth for dinner! I hope there is an appetite on this one! I made extra currywurst!” His voice was so loud, Hanzo visibly cringed and squinted his eyes shut.

“He ain’t _stayin’_ for dinner, Reinhardt,” McCree growled.

“Hah hah, nonsense! Come, come! Talking is much easier over full plates and with fuller bellies!” The man was larger than anyone Hanzo had ever seen. He couldn’t help feeling a bit intimidated when he exited the door completely and stood with his arms folded, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear. He was an absolute bear of a man, all solid muscle and war-hardened wisdom. German, if Hanzo’s ear for linguistics hadn’t gotten rusty with the rest of him. He didn’t seem to get that they were in the middle of grilling their new…prisoner of war? Hostage? Hanzo wasn’t quite sure what he could consider his status at that point.

“Y’still haven’t handed over that bow, partner.”

Hanzo kept on forgetting about the damn cowboy. How in the hell he could manage to forget the 6’1” dystopian rodeo clown standing overbearingly close was beyond him, but Hanzo twitched in irritation at the sound of his voice. The smaller man squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest and met his gaze like the proud dragon he was. He didn’t exactly respond well to commands made by bootleg cigarette mascots who tried to sound hard.

“Try and take it from me, _imbecile,_ ” Hanzo replied lowly, his throat feeling like he’d cleaned it with steel wool. When McCree’s bushy brows raised up high enough to disappear under the brim of his hat, Hanzo grinned smugly, tossed his head, and proceeded to attempt to step around him. _I win._

Well…‘attempt’ was the key word in that sentence.

Luck didn’t seem to be favoring either of them that day. One second the short little bastard with the lizard on his arm was smirking at McCree like he owned the world, and the next he was pale, expressionless and locked in a thousand-yard stare. McCree could only blanch when his enemy’s eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and his entire body rocked forward. Before he could stop himself, the gunslinger had two strong arms full of unconscious Japanese pain in the ass. Fucker was heavy too. Damn his gentlemanly gut instincts.

“Just what I fuckin’ _need_ ,” he groaned.

“What happened?! Is ‘e all right?” Lena exclaimed, blipping over from the door to eye the blacked-out archer that was slung in McCree’s arms like a sack of potatoes.

“The Hell should I know? S’not like I _asked_ him t’go all Southern belle on me. Maybe he’s one o’those…y’know, where they pass out all over the place.” McCree adjusted Hanzo with a brief hoist and waved a hand around at the wrist, trying to find the word.

“Narcoleptic,” Winston deadpanned.

McCree snapped his fingers. “Yeah. That.”

“I _sincerely_ doubt it.”

“He is bleeding,” Genji murmured gravelly, a hand lightly brushing the wound on Hanzo’s shoulder that had been haphazardly bandaged. It had to have opened back up during the action was now red and wet, looking particularly gnarly where it soaked through.

“Get him inside and get him to the med lab. Angela can check him over while we get things prepared. Athena will have to go over the security diagnostics and reset the alarm system. I guess I have to figure out some sort of interrogation procedure.”

“Aw _come on,_ ” McCree whined exaggeratedly, once again having to heft Hanzo up when he’d started slipping, “It’s _dinner_ time, Winston! Why do I gotta play chauffer to Sleepin’ Beauty?”

Winston took a moment to pointedly shift down his spectacles at the situation McCree now found himself in. When the reality hit that he was, in fact, _carrying_ Hanzo like a new bride, McCree went pink in the face.

“…well I’m gonna bitch about it the whole time.”

“I assumed you would,” Winston responded easily and with a roll of his eyes, already turning and heading in the door. Lena followed and scurried in past Reinhardt, who good-naturedly held the door open for his comrades and slapped Torbjorn on the shoulder. McCree just watched them all move inside, the last of which was Genji, who hesitated just to give him a nod of gratitude over his shoulder. He would have offered to assist, but even McCree could tell that seeing Hanzo had been rough on him despite evidence to the contrary.  

Jesse looked down at the man in his arms and scowled. Nothin’ but a bunch of damn trouble already. But after a thoughtful second and with a bit of shifting, he managed to toss the man over his shoulder unceremoniously and slide his bow out of the sheath at his back. He gave it a victorious once-over, momentarily appraising the craftsmanship, and then rested it over the shoulder opposite Hanzo’s still form.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he grinned smugly, breaking into a whistle and jauntily heading towards the door before it closed behind him.

_I win._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you noticed yet that I love using gratuitous italics to emphasize tone of voice? 
> 
> Because I do. 
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/pzX0KhhFv-M) Technical Difficulties (Photek Remix) - Julien-k  
> (https://youtu.be/dJ-1ytWJXPk) The Distance - Cake
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	4. Rock, Paper, Scissors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to say you have all been so lovely. I really appreciate knowing that people are enjoying this little project so far. <3 In fact, I love it SO much that I cranked this chapter out in a few hours. Enjoy!

_He was here again. There was no breath in his lungs. He was falling._

_He would never remember how he got there, but Hanzo was sure he’d been there before. Memories didn’t seem to last in that empty place. All he could ever do was scratch towards the surface in the dark and attempt to scream, though no sound ever escaped him. The process was slow, like he was sliding down through tar, and the tatters of his clothing suspended from his body like they were floating in water. One moment they’d be his, and another they’d be someone else’s. Something he couldn’t recognize. Bloody and burnt._

_He was always facing the last remnants of the surface as he dropped and the walls were always out of reach. The bits he could glimpse through wide panicked eyes convulsed and retracted around him in the steady thrum of a heartbeat.  He could never get near them. He’d never tried, but deep down he knew._

_The voices always came next, nonsensical and meaningless. As the sliver of light above him dissipated along with his hope for a breach and a gasp of air, they grew louder. Hanzo had to cover his ears when they became deafening. They still came through. He couldn’t get away._

 ‘Bring them in.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘Well ain’t you just pretty as a picture.’

‘Come join me!’

‘You are nothing.’

‘You know what needs to be done.’

‘Let it end.’

‘Let it end.’

‘Let it end.’

_He screamed again in futility, meeting the same silence, and a plume of smoke erupted from behind his clenched teeth and out of his throat. One second it was there, the next it was gone. And then back again. And then gone. It shimmered and left a gossamer halo around his head and slowly fell into the same pattern of movement as the walls. Expand. Retract. Expand. Retract._

_When the dull drone of a barge ruptured around him, Hanzo dully expected what was coming. It signaled their approach._

_He curled in on himself and brought his knees to his chest as they began their descent to him from the oblivion above, unhurried and inevitable – eels, black as pitch, and in the thousands. Like ghosts they flitted in and out of being, tangled in each other, jaws held open with needle-like teeth while they basked. Eyes like marbles glowed bright blue in contrast with the shadow they were submerged in. When they passed him, he could finally experience feeling again – bone-deep cold and dampness. He was terrified._

_All at once he was jarred – thrown sideways by a sudden influx of gravity that had him reeling. Then he was falling again, careening this time, the world spinning out of control. He was hot. Too hot. The eels were staring but were never far away no matter how far he dropped. They never seemed to leave. Now when their jaws drifted open and shut, the voices came from them. Amidst the cacophony, he could even pick out the echoed and empty sound of his own mingling with the rest._

‘Hanzo, again!’

‘You are weak.’

‘I will not fail.’

‘Again!’

‘You’re fucking dead, Shimada!’

‘Did you see that? A sparrow...’

‘ **Again!** ’

_Then it was silent and he was still. The walls shuddered and blackened. When his gaze lifted in the direction he’d come and his hair passed before his eyes, he could see them._

_Two blue brinicles cut through the black like fingers, born from the abyss._

_It was the sound of his own strangled cry that awoke him._

 

* * *

 

 

Angela, much to her credit, somehow held back the look of surprise when McCree strolled in with a body slung over one shoulder, a bow on the other. Even if the expression _had_ managed to slip out, it would have been fleeting at best. This was McCree they were talking about. The good doctor had known him long enough to expect that his visits to the med bay were anything but ordinary, even on the best of circumstances.

“Brought ya’ a present, babycakes,” he drawled and winked, spurs jangling as he moved into the room.

“Oh you shouldn’t have. Just what I’ve always wanted,” came the lighthearted response, a prim smile on her face. “Bring them in.”

 She ignored him when he wiggled his eyebrows at her and gestured towards one of the open cots in the back room with a pale, manicured hand. The place was immaculate, as usual, and McCree had no problem _dropping_ his cargo directly onto the unforgiving mattress once he reached it. Hanzo bounced violently against the surface but did not wake, merely groaning out with pinched brows.

At Angela’s pointed stare and exaggerated sigh, the gunslinger simply feigned innocence and shrugged his burly shoulders.

“Guy’s heavy. I ain’t no pack mule, Angie.”

“I would still kindly request that you not _dump_ my patients, McCree. They are _people_ , not firewood. Why does everyone around here insist on making things more difficult for me?”

“Aw, sugar, you know they’re just excuses to extend our lil’ bits of time together. I’ll admit, I am _mighty_ partial that pretty blond head o’yours.”

Clearly from his expression, Jesse was feeling pretty pleased with himself. There’d be no fighting with him at this rate. Angela turned her eyes to heaven and muttered under her breath in hushed German, praying for guidance from whoever would listen. Then she stepped forward.

It only took a second for her to spin on her heel and level McCree with wide eyes.

“This…this is-“

“ _Yeeeep._ The one and only _,”_ Jesse confirmed, leaning against the doorframe with his thumbs through his belt loops. He rolled his cigarillo between his teeth thoughtfully as he watched her slowly turn her head back to the unconscious man, the air thick with unsaid sentiment.

“I thought…I thought that Genji had said he was still in Japan…,” she murmured, though she quietly pulled a stool from under the cot and sat at Hanzo’s side to begin examining him.

“Yeah, well…I guess Green Arrow here had other plans.”

Angela momentarily eyed him, not grabbing the reference, and McCree just huffed and waved his hand to say never mind.  He always forgot that not everyone watched nearly as much television as he did. Angela just shook her head at him, moved to wash her hands at a nearby sink and don gloves, before returning and moving back into place.

He peered over her shoulder inquisitively as Angela began to work, the two of them allowing a thoughtful quiet to permeate the cramped room save for Hanzo’s occasional noise of discomfort. Despite how uncomfortable the doctor seemed at the predicament she found herself in, far be it for her to neglect anyone in need. That was just one of the many reasons why he cared about her so much. Completely selfless, even when tending to the wounds of a murderous asshole.

“Is he dead?” Jesse finally asked, though the question was more of a jest than anything serious. Nevertheless, Angela clucked her tongue in concentration and shook her head, delicate fingers pressing and prodding around the makeshift bandage before beginning to remove it. The sound of the sticky fabric peeling back from Hanzo’s skin was enough to make McCree’s lip curl.

“Judging by the fever and the elevated pulse rate, not to mention the obvious pallor? I am willing to bet that whatever he has wrapped up here has gotten infected due to neglect. He is probably in the beginning stages of severe sepsis.”

“Amateur,” he muttered, earning him a scolding look from the woman.

“Help me turn him, please. _Carefully_ ,” she asked, standing to allow McCree to roll the other onto his side so she could remove the rest of the bandage. It finally gave way from the tacky surface of his skin with a soft tearing sound, colored rust with old blood. Angela clucked her tongue again and then began to chew on her lower lip.

“Looks like a bullet tore through,” McCree commented. He’d seen enough of them in his day to be able to pick one out of a lineup easily enough. This one, though…this was one of the angriest looking suckers he’d ever seen.

The skin surrounding it had begun to pucker and retract thanks to its time stuck under the covered surface, pulling back like lips from the oblong crevasse marring the archer’s skin. Parts had deepened into a burgundy color while patches remained as red as wet tempera paint. It was deep but cut through him completely, which was a small miracle in itself – Angela wouldn’t have to go digging around for a bullet amidst the torn muscle and sinew with a pair of tongs.

“I will have to get to work on this right away,” the doctor sighed, reaching around McCree to a side table that held bandages, gauze, tongue depressors and a few large bottles of hydrogen peroxide, alcohol, and sterile water. Diligently and delicately she began to clean the area around Hanzo’s shoulder, careful not to press too hard or disturb him too much.

“Want me to tell Fareeha you ain’t gonna make it to dinner?” McCree asked. It only earned him a distracted hum in response.

After a few more minutes of hesitation, McCree threw a lazy two-fingered salute her way and slipped from the door with a rustle of fabric and a jangle of spurs. He knew better than to keep bugging her when she was faced with a challenge. Spinning his newly confiscated bow idly and whistling, he followed his nose towards the mess hall and put the scene behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been Winston’s idea to set up the guard shifts at the med lab a day or so later.

“Is that really necessary?” Genji asked softly while they had all been gathered in the conference room, though from the sound of it he already knew the answer.

“I don’t really see any way around it,” Winston sighed, scratching the back of his head, “The damage he caused to the outer turrets was extensive, and I’m not sure I trust him enough to leave him unsupervised, even with Athena and the security cameras. We didn’t exactly get a chance to agree to any sort of peaceful compromise before he passed out. He could still be dangerous.”

“Angela said he’s been a real handful in the lab, too,” Fareeha added, twirling a lock of brown hair around her finger, “She’s kept him sedated and asleep for the most part, but she said he keeps thrashing around anyway. Had to cuff him to the cot just to keep his hands down so he wouldn’t accidentally tear out his IV.”

“Sounds like a party,” McCree quipped, leaning back on his chair until the front legs were off the ground.

“Look. None of us know what to expect once he’s up and conscious again, so I’m asking that everyone take shifts so that Angela can get off her feet a little. We all just got back here. I don’t want our only medic running herself ragged before we even go out on our first mission,” Winston continued, drumming his fingers on the table, “Just a few hours while we have downtime. That’s it.”

“Who goes first?” piped up Lena, earning a few interested glances from everyone around her. Good question.

Winston chewed his cheek for a second before answering.

“Well…Torbjorn needs to finish the repairs and updates on the wall, since that’s still a priority. He’s going to need help, so Reinhardt will have to provide some muscle to bring the equipment back and forth for him. Lena, you need to assist me with coordinating Athena’s core system scans and testing the generators. There’s too many for me to do alone, otherwise it wouldn’t be an issue.”

He paused, took a deep inhale and exhale, and then continued.

“Genji, I’d…rather you not sit in on this one. Not yet, anyway. Things are just too tense right now, and I’d prefer it if you kept a low profile with him until we can get a better handle on the situation.”

Obviously frowning behind his faceplate, Genji deflated a little but eventually nodded.

“So that leaves Fareeha and McCree.”

Another pregnant pause and the two locked eyes. Fareeha was the first to raise her fist with a smirk, which the gunslinger copied, and soon they were both battling to see who had to take the first shift. Rock-Paper-Scissors.

McCree lost, of course.

“That ain’t fair!” he crowed at Fareeha’s smug smile. “I’ve already spent _enough_ time with the slippery lil’ pain in the ass!”

“Tough luck, cowboy,” Fareeha crooned and grinned a little wider, earning her a resolute grumble and a few muttered swears.

“It’s just for tonight, I promise. Then Fareeha can take the next shift and we’ll go from there,” Winston placated with a halfhearted smile.

With all eyes on him, there was basically nothing McCree could do but curse his luck, kick an imaginary patch of dirt, and get going. “Bunch of villains ‘round here, I swear.”

Angela was coming out of the med lab when he got there, looking more put out and tired than usual. Light bags sat under her eyes and marred her perfect skin, and her motions were just a bit more sluggish than he was used to seeing. Judging by how hard she was gripping that mug in her hand, she was on her third or fourth cup of coffee to boot. She quickly perked when the gunslinger sidled up though, recognizing the sight of the cavalry when she saw it.

“Thank goodness,” she smiled, not put off by the cowboy’s less-than-thrilled expression, “Winston paged me on the comm. Thank you for doing this.”

 _‘Not like I had a choice…’_ McCree thought to himself, but chose to remain silent and simply tip his hat in her direction. He knew when the doc had had enough, and he was never one to say no to lending her a helping hand.

“He should be out cold for another few hours. I have him on enough sedatives to take down a bear. Just…let me know if he doesn’t stay that way. Please.” She was quick to add the last word, which had McCree softening a little and nodding.  

“Get some sleep, Angie.”

With another little nod and a grateful smile, the doctor adjusted her coat and turned on her heel towards the dorms, shoes clacking against the floor until she was out of sight. Finally alone, McCree tugged on his serape, adjusted his hat, and skirted into the med lab with determination. This shit was _not_ going to sour his mood. He wouldn’t let it.

It didn’t take more than a few strides for Jesse to cross the room, kick out a stool, and plonk himself down beside the bed where the archer slept. Trying to make himself comfortable and finding it increasingly difficult, he glanced over at Hanzo with only slight interest.

His color had begun to come back, at least. McCree noted the vast improvement in the man’s breathing and the less exaggerated flush of his cheeks beneath his well-manicured crop of black facial hair. Angela had always been a miracle-worker like that. What would have probably taken some other punk ass medic days to get under wraps she could get handled in a few hours. That handy-dandy Caduceus staff of hers didn’t hurt either.

Jesse contemplated lighting another cigar but eventually dismissed that notion entirely. Angela would string him up by his bootheels if she smelled even an ounce of tobacco anywhere near there, and the cowboy preferred his balls to stay right where they were. Grumpily, he took his lighter out and flicked it open and shut to occupy his hands, quietly enjoying the crisp click of the metal on metal. With nothing better to do, he found himself eyeing the sleeping man in the cot in front of him with a look of distaste. After a few minutes that look faded, abating into one of mild appreciation.

He looked so… _peaceful_ like that. Jesse snorted at the stereotype – everyone looked peaceful when they slept. But the difference in the archer’s firm brow and overall countenance from the last time they’d met was like night and day. Except for a small pinched spot above his nose and the tight look to his trembling lips, the rest was smooth and chiseled like alabaster stone. Beneath his chin, his Adam’s apple bobbed and Jesse found his eyes drawn to it, watching it jump and twitch like the man was trying to speak. A nightmare, he assumed. He could relate to that.

Thick black hair had come loose from the ponytail it’d been confined to earlier. The black tendrils laid across his forehead and cheeks like tentacles, still limply adhered to the skin by a thin coat of sweat. McCree swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat from out of nowhere and purposefully averted his eyes to somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. Beside the cot, Angela had taken the gold ribbon Hanzo had worn and neatly folded it along with some of his other personal effects, laying them out beside a damp cloth and a glass of water.

Well…there wasn’t any harm in making the guy a little more comfortable, was there? At least it’d give him something to do, and maybe even earn him a few brownie points.

McCree stood to retrieve the cloth, wrung it out a bit, and pressed it to the archer’s forehead, only encouraged when he made no move to wake up and pull away. Mindlessly, the cowboy’s hand slid the cloth down to brush it over his cheeks and the side of his neck. Deep down he knew he was pressing his luck. Any second now someone would barge in and grill him about what he was up to. Or worse – the man would wake up. Seemingly hearing McCree’s thoughts, Hanzo’s head lolled in his direction to press into the contact. After a little shift and a kick of the legs to make himself more comfortable beneath the thin blanket at his waist, he went still again. McCree released a shuddery breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Well ain’t you as pretty as a picture…” he whispered to himself, admiring the high cheekbones dusted with dark lashes and the strong nose that flared its nostrils with every sharp intake of breath. Unbidden, Jesse’s hand released the cloth against the archer’s forehead and moved to brush a stray hand of hair away. He tucked it behind Hanzo’s ear tenderly, his focus lost entirely to the soft feel of it beneath his fingertips.

Needless to say, he nearly had a heart attack when the quiet was broken by a strangled cry and a strong hand snapping up to catch his wrist.

Jesse winced and let out a yelp of his own when the fingers dug in, only held at bay by the handcuffs that clanged against the metal of the cot piercingly. The archer had jerked upright and was gasping for air. McCree didn’t know whether to rip his arm away or let Hanzo keep it. When he didn’t show any signs of calming, McCree used his prosthetic to try and gently pry his fingers off. It was easier said than done.

“Easy there, darlin.’ It was just a nightmare,” he tried to say, gritting his teeth under Hanzo’s powerful grip. The sound of him speaking seemed to finally alert Hanzo that the man was even _there_ , for the cowboy all at once found himself pinned under a fierce, wild stare. He could see himself reflected in those pupils like the eyes of a prairie horse ready to bolt, and Jesse had to bite down on the urge to stop what he was doing and run his fingers over that bearded jaw. To soothe and tame the beautiful, startled creature that he found himself captivated by.

A few beats passed before McCree could feel the tension on his wrist let up. Hanzo still held his gaze, but its focus was fading fast, and soon he was lying back against the pillows again. Jesse couldn’t tear himself away from those deep brown eyes until Hanzo shut them again and drifted into unconsciousness, urged into blackness by the sedatives in his veins. When his hand fell back against the mattress limply, McCree took his own wrist in his hand and rubbed it. His gaze was still trained on the archer’s face when he swallowed again.

“…well fuck me sideways,” he murmured to no one in particular. This was going to be a long, _long_ couple of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are some long ass chapters. 
> 
> Also: if you ever need to hash out a dark dream sequence, listen to Trent Reznor. No joke. The man has a gift.
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/xQtXsp4tIbw) Immigrant Song - Karen O with Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross  
> (https://youtu.be/tPQkV6h_tls) Closer (Precursor) - Nine Inch Nails  
> (https://youtu.be/6P_YISMJ4sQ) Just Like You Imagined - Nine Inch Nails  
> (https://youtu.be/7UjvdZm-Tu8) Tomorrow Never Knows - The Beatles
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	5. Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: For those of you not familiar with it, the story Genji tells in this chapter is NOT my brainchild. It is taken from the animated Overwatch short 'Dragons,' which along with being my favorite, goes over the meeting Hanzo and Genji share at the Shimada castle. Everyone should go watch it. It's awesome. 
> 
> Also: I can't stop writing aaaaaaah
> 
> Sorry these chapters are so long. I just get really into it! 
> 
> Enjoy!

That night as promised, Fareeha had gone to the med lab several hours after McCree had only to find the other agent dozing with his hat over his eyes. Hanzo was placid in the cot beside him, so Fareeha saw no reason why she shouldn’t lift McCree’s hat, flick him in the forehead and chide him for being lazy. This, of course, earned her a grunt and a playful jab back – something about needing his beauty sleep. The normal playbook.

Things went back to more of a routine from there on out. The agents proceeded to switch off as Winston had suggested, passing the occasional nod or relaxed greeting while they entered and exited. Angela had been more than grateful each and every time a new one entered, catching her in between administering antibiotics or checking Hanzo’s vitals. Contrary to how things began, she was now relaxed enough to engage in playful banter and easy conversation with her comrades again. The arrangement had allowed her to get some much-needed rest which, judging from the improved state of their new tenant and overall morale, benefitted everyone.

The infection had proven to be virulent but ultimately manageable under her care, though no one was really surprised. By utilizing a strict observation procedure and keeping detailed notes, Angela was able to settle on a fluid and medicinal regiment for the sick archer that seemed to do wonders. She’d kept him carefully anesthetized during most of the required procedures out of caution, but had removed the handcuffs after his fever had broken. Except for the occasional night terror, he was finally calm enough to work with unrestrained.

McCree’s shift came up again on the morning of the fifth day. Ever the early bird, he shuffled groggily from his room to the mess hall like a sasquatch to retrieve his breakfast – a large, piping hot mug of black coffee and a microwaved breakfast burrito big enough to club someone with. Today he’d opted out of his usual uniform, instead choosing a rumpled red flannel and a white undershirt that he’d found on the floor along with a pair of jeans with holes near the ankles. His hat, of course, sat atop his unruly brown locks like normal, but listed off to the side just a bit more noticeably since he’d been too tired to adjust it.

Lena had been before him. Where her abundance of energy came from he would never comprehend, _especially_ at that ungodly hour of the day, but when she hopped up and waved cheerily from the small room McCree couldn’t help but wave back. Whatever she was on, he wanted some.

 “Mornin’, luv!” she chirped, teeth bright white and smile contagious. Jesse only grunted and shuffled in, tentatively sipping the black muck in his mug to test the temperature. With the porcelain rim still pressed against his lips, he raised a brow upon seeing Genji was also in attendance, perched with legs folded near the end of Hanzo’s cot.

“Good morning, Jesse,” he bowed lightly.

“Thought Winston wanted you to make yourself scarce for awhile,” McCree drawled, taking Lena’s now empty spot to lounge back and kick his feet out. “This ain’t scarce.”

“Winston did not wish for me to act as a guardian. I am not here for that purpose. I am simply…visiting,” he explained, a smile to his voice. “And maybe offering a bit of companionship for my friends who are helping me in turn.”

“Aw, it’s all right, Genji luv. Happy to help, as always,” Lena quipped, patting him on the shoulder. “McCree, you good while I pop off for some brekkie? I’m _starving.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I think I can handle Sleepin’ Beauty for awhile,” he smirked, lifting his mug and taking a giant bite of his sloppy burrito. Lena wrinkled her nose and watched him chew for a moment before sticking out her tongue and bolting in typical Lena fashion.

“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone ingest anything so quickly,” Genji chuckled, watching McCree practically devour half the thing in two bites. “Do you even taste it?”

“Yah. S’good,” McCree managed, face still full of beans and cheese. Getting the distinct impression that it might be just a _tad_ rude to be stuffing your mouth in front of someone else, McCree wrapped the remaining half in a nearby napkin and focused in on the coffee. “Y’been in here awhile?”

Genji hummed and turned his head back to Hanzo, who had turned to sleep on his side facing the wall. “For a bit. I finished my sunrise meditation a bit early and found myself restless. Lena was kind enough to let me join her here as a bit of a distraction.”

“Y’still know you probably shouldn’t be in here,” McCree sighed. After a pause, he shrugged and put down his mug beside him to fold his arms over his chest. “But you an’ me gotta talk, so I guess it can’t be helped.”

Genji cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy, but eventually perked up when realization hit him and nodded.

“Ah, you mean about Hanzo. And all of… _this._ ” He gestured around the room vaguely with both hands.

“ _Ding ding,_ ” McCree deadpanned. “You’ve won the grand prize: a nice lil’ chat with Jesse McCree about whatever the hell’s goin’ on.”

 “What do you wish to know?” Genji asked, still as placid as ever.

“Well, for starters maybe you can enlighten me on how your murderin’ older brother high-tailed it our way in the first place,” he said thoughtfully, arching a curious brow in Genji’s direction. “You tell him where you were goin’?”

“Not directly, no. Though Hanzo has always had an aptitude for tracking and surveillance along with everything else. It is quite possible that he caught my trail in a way I was not expecting and followed me here.”

“Well that seems obvious,” McCree grunted, stretching and yawning before scratching a bit of his exposed stomach. “What went down in Hanamura that he’d wanna chase your ass all the way to Gibraltar? I figured if anyone was gonna be doin’ the chasing it’d be you, but seein’ as how he clearly ain’t dead and all…”

“I told you. I offered him my forgiveness.”

“Yeah…yeah, you said that,” McCree sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair beneath his hat. “But I still don’t…how can you just up and forgive a guy that…that…”

“Almost killed me?” Genji finished helpfully, making McCree wince a bit with how upbeat he sounded.

“I just…I don’t get it, Genj. I mean hell, I ain’t no saint either – shit, you know that more than anyone. But even a junkyard dog like me knows there ain’t no comin’ back from somethin’ like that. It brands your ass like a cattle prod. It don’t just go away.”

Genji was quiet for a moment as he mulled over his words and formulated a response. For only being a few years younger than him, the cyborg still always managed to surprise him with how poignant he could be. Though he supposed that it came from years of hardship and grief, muddled with the teachings of those Shambali monks he’d visited in Nepal. McCree had the first part down – maybe it was time to schedule a visit so he could learn to articulate a bit better.

“When Hanzo and I were young,” Genji began softly, head tilted towards Hanzo as he spoke, “my father often told us a story about two ancient dragon brothers that ruled the Heavens. I believe that at the time it was meant to quiet me during times of recklessness, but it still holds great meaning in my heart.”

McCree had gone still and quiet, reverently watching his friend slip into melancholic nostalgia. He chewed on his lower lip expectantly before he removed the Stetson from his head and rested it on his knee.

“As he told it, the brothers violently bickered over who could rule the land and skies best - one brother against the other in a vicious battle for dominance, both struggling to show that they knew better than their kin. Eventually, one brother prevailed and destroyed the other, sinking his body into the land that they had both called home.”

“That’s depressing as shit. Who the hell tells their kids crap like that?” Jesse blinked, earning a wry chuckle from Genji as he leaned back against the wall behind him.

“Our father was a powerful man. It was power that he eventually sought from his children, so naturally he saw no reason to hide us from the ways of the world. Or dragons, as it were.”

He shook his head and then let it tip back before he continued.

“The dragon that had defeated his brother was alone, and he lamented in his solitude over what he had done. His suffering caused chaos and destruction, eventually drawing a man to him from the far reaches of his kingdom. The man climbed the highest peak to seek him out and asked the dragon about his grief. The dragon told the man of his indiscretion, and described the agony and pain he felt at being alone with his guilt. The man, who had come to find peace in his heart, consoled the dragon and told him that through humility he could find redemption. He asked him to take his side as a human, and the dragon did.

Through a human’s eyes, the dragon could finally see what the world had become. He could finally feel whole and begin to heal with the rest of his land thanks to the man who saw fit to forgive him for his selfishness. When the man revealed to be his own fallen brother, the two set out to fix what had been broken. Together.”

There was a pregnant pause as Jesse turned his attention to the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Genji lifted his head and let his gaze fall on him, and his lights seemed to hum to life a bit brighter than they had a moment earlier.

“The point is…I know what it is like to be broken thanks to my past. I know how it feels to experience hatred and rage and all of those other heavy weights that only exist to sink the soul deeper. It was only until I received unconditional support from another that I felt those weights lift. The monks helped me see this light. And now I wish to pass it on to the one man who needs it the most. Without it, I feel he will inevitably sink too far for anyone to ever reach again. I cannot allow that to happen.”

What could he possibly have to say to that? Jesse just nodded dumbly in understanding and sighed again, feeling ultimately inadequate under that deep, robotic stare.

“So you were tellin’ him all this when you met him in Japan,” Jesse deduced, his lips forming a thin line. Genji just laughed again and waved his hand.

“ _Hardly_. Hanzo was never one to simply stand by and allow that sort of talk to happen, even when we were children. He has all the emotional awareness of a boulder in the grass. But the sentiment was the same. I just never expected him to seek me out like this. It has me…perplexed. And a bit worried.”

“With good reason, looks like,” McCree said, nodding his head to the recovering bullet wound that had been neatly wrapped with white linen.

“Yes, that is also troubling. I do not understand how he could let such a thing come to pass.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…as I said before, our father was a powerful man. He believed that once you attained power, it was your duty to maintain that power no matter the circumstance. It was for this reason that he often had us go to great lengths and spend many hours honing skills that made us better. Hanzo most of all. Swordplay, martial arts, conversation…and advanced survival skills.”

Jesse’s brow furrowed in contemplation before he sat up slightly and let surprise color his features.

“You’re sayin’ he _allowed_ his wound to get infected?”

“That I do not know for certain,” Genji replied with a shake of his head, extending his legs to stand. “What I do know is that Angela has seen it fit to cease his sedation due to his recovery. Perhaps we can ask him when he wakes…though I fear he may not be as cooperative as I wish.”

“Yeah, you an’ me both,” McCree rolled his eyes, resting his cheek on his fist. The younger Shimada made a gesture of resignation and turned to leave, tossing a wave over his shoulder. As he reached the door, he paused, a hand brushing the frame, before he turned back to Jesse.

“You never told me how you feel about what I said. About this decision that I have made.”

“Didn’t know you were lookin’ for an opinion,” he drawled back nonchalantly with a shrug.

“I value your opinions always. You know that.”

To his credit, McCree chewed his cheek in thought before answering, choosing his words carefully.

“I…don’t like it. I can’t. I saw you sent to hell and dragged back up out of it thanks to someone who was ‘sposed to protect you. But…I ain’t a Shimada and this ain’t my battle. Not really. I’m just a friend who maybe cares a lil’ too much. So… the way I see it, my place in all this is at your back, on the field and in here. As always. You wanna go runnin’ off into that darkness lookin’ for who you really are? Well, that’s just fine by me. I’ll be the guy with the lighter.”

It must have been the right thing to say, because Genji turned and tilted his head, obviously smiling hugely behind that faceplate. He bowed deeply, straightened himself, and with a curt nod left the room without another word.

As McCree returned the nod and settled back in the chair to keep jamming the burrito into his face, he smiled a private smile to himself. Okay, so maybe he didn’t need to schedule a trip to Nepal just yet. He was obviously better with words than he gave himself credit for.

 

* * *

 

  

Hanzo stirred from his slumber around midday. McCree was on his fourth cup of coffee at that point and had spent much of the morning playing with his phone. He was only drawn away from his antiquated game of Solitaire by the sound of cloth rustling and springs creaking beneath unfamiliar weight.

The man looked almost cute – like a bedraggled kitten that had a hard time holding its own head up. His hair had long since gone from brushed silk to shag carpet in appearance, sticking up at odd angles and creased where he’d laid on it. He peered around the room with squinted eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights above him making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where he was. He wobbled a little, muscles unused to actually having to hold themselves up, and McCree honestly couldn’t help himself.

“Well it’s about time. Thought we were gonna have to start diggin’ a hole in the yard for you.”

Hanzo’s head whipped around with enough speed that for a moment Jesse was actually impressed with the strength of his neck. It wasn’t until his eyes narrowed viciously that Jesse blinked and sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“Where is my bow.”

It took Jesse a moment to process the question. When he didn’t answer right away, Hanzo growled and snapped an arm out to drag him up by the collar. He had surprisingly strong arms. _‘Must be all the bow stuff,’_ Jesse thought absently.

“I know you understand English, _buffoon_. Where. Is. My. **_Bow_**?”

“Aw, an’ here I thought we were getting’ all friendly, what with me bringin’ you in here an’ lookin’ after you and all. You gonna ask me nicely, or am I gonna have to ask Angie to put you down again?”

The look of absolute indignation that graced Hanzo’s features made McCree let out an ugly snort of laughter. Just like before, he couldn’t seem to help himself, and slipped a hand over the one fisted in his shirt. When Hanzo managed to raise a dark eyebrow upwards at the action, McCree wiggled his in return.

“Darlin’, easy on the shirt. If you wanted t’drag me into bed with you, you just had to say so.”

Hanzo had never dropped anything so quickly in his life.

“I cannot _believe_ they chose the _cowboy_ to guard me. Unbelievable.” Hanzo’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, though Jesse could make out the telltale sign of a faint blush on his cheekbones. Well shit, the big bad Shimada couldn’t handle a little flirting? That was something to keep in mind.

“Nah, you just happen to be wakin’ up durin’ my shift. The doc should be back in a lil’ while and I can just mosey on out and leave you to it. But, to answer your question, Sugar, your bow’s back in my room. Can’t have it until Winston says you can.”

Hanzo leveled him with another stare, a mix of anger, frustration and forced patience mixing there.

“Winston.”

“Y’know. The guy in the suit.”

“The ape?”

“Uh…yeah, but callin’ him that won’t get your bow back any faster. Trust me.”

Hanzo took the news surprisingly well. McCree had been expecting much more of a fight than this when the archer finally woke up, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The archer just seemed to be taking everything in one step at a time, quietly grinding his teeth while he did. McCree’s eyes trained on the ripple of muscle at his jaw.

“You helped me.”

It wasn’t a question, and Jesse had to blink to clear his head. He’d been a million miles a way for a second, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

“I guess we did, yeah.”

“ _You_ did _._ Why?”

The question was offered with genuine, sincere surprise. From his expression, it was clear that he had absolutely _no_ inkling as to why anyone would ever do such a thing. As if remembering it finally, Hanzo’s arm stretched across his chest to press into the bandage at his shoulder. Jesse was now distracted by that long stretch of muscle and those wide, calloused fingers as they flexed with movement.

“Just the right thing to do, I guess. Couldn’t just leave you up there on the roof for the gulls. Genji woulda’ killed me.”

Hanzo visibly stiffened and turned his head until he was facing the blankets. His hands came down to rest as fists on his covered knees, his entire body tense and unyielding.

“I suppose I am your prisoner now.”

McCree rolled his eyes and settled back to fiddle with his phone again.

“As fun as that sounds, I ain’t got the energy and we ain’t got the room around here t’ keep prisoners, darlin’. Winston’s just got some questions. And Torb – er, the short, clampy-lookin’ guy – well he’s mighty ticked with all damage you caused to the turrets. Not to mention the-what. _Hey_. Wait-where are you goin’?”

The next time McCree looked up from his phone, Hanzo had already wobbly left the bed and removed his IV, running his fingers through his hair to try and calm it. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by the lack of a shirt, and thankfully Jesse took note that he was wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants to replace his wet, dirty traditional clothing. He was still a bit shaky on his legs and looked horribly uncomfortable once he was standing again, but lost none of the newfound determination in his eyes when he faced McCree again.

“If the answers to these questions will help me retrieve my bow, then I will not wait. I am going to find this… _Winston_ and speak with him. Then I will find Genji. If you wish to escort me, I assume you will do so. Otherwise, stay _out_ of my way.”

With a nod of satisfaction, Hanzo strode out of the room, managing to _somehow_ look dignified with mussed hair and no shirt.

McCree just stared, slack-jawed, his neglected phone hanging from one hand. That…hadn’t gone at _all_ like he’d expected.

Straight, to the point, and sharp as a tack – just like the arrows he wielded. McCree would never admit how long he sat there staring before the rest of his body caught up. With a curse and a quick gulp of coffee, he made after his quarry. _Pain in the ass._

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way to go, McCree. You had ONE JOB. This is why we can't have nice things.
> 
> Since there was a lot of dialogue for this chapter, I didn't really listen to a lot of music. So, let me just take this opportunity to recommend the new Lorde album 'Melodrama.' It's awesome. 
> 
> Thank you to all who have commented and left me kudos. *finger guns*
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	6. Unwanted Obligations

 McCree was beginning to lose his patience with Hanzo Shimada.

Any attempt at conversation he made, be it instructive or playful, was met with the same response – gruff silence. The guy was like a brick wall in sweat pants as they traversed the base looking for Winston. Jesse would joke, Hanzo would glare. Jesse would ask a question, Hanzo would glare harder. The guy didn’t seem _at all_ interested with anything to do with him, and it was enough to make McCree wonder why he was even trying. Sure, Genji had made it pretty clear that his older brother deserved a second chance. He’d managed to convince McCree that maybe, _just_ maybe, the guy wasn’t all bad. By the fifth or sixth attempt at communication, McCree was in a damn foul mood.

“Athena, where the hell is Winston?” he finally spat at the ceiling. Better to get this over with than continue trying to be friendly with someone that _obviously_ wasn’t interested.

That, at least, made Hanzo turn and arch a dark eyebrow in his direction. When the polite voice echoed around them, Hanzo jumped a little, making McCree smirk to himself. Upon seeing his expression, the archer narrowed his eyes and averted his gaze.

**_“Winston is currently returning from the dormitories, Agent McCree. Shall I send an alert that you are looking for him?”_ **

“Nah, thanks, darlin.’ Just tell him me and our… _guest_ are headin’ to the conference room. Got a few things we need to hash out that can’t wait, _apparently_.” He glared in Hanzo’s direction, the man only folding his arms and squaring his shoulders in response. McCree rolled his eyes. _Pain in the ass._

**_“Of course, Agent McCree. I will request that he join you immediately.”_ **

“Thanks, doll.”

McCree threw a pointed look at the archer and tossed his head in the direction of the corridor to the left, and Hanzo took the hint and followed. Those sharp brown eyes were trained to the floor and the corners of his mouth were curved downwards in a perpetual frown. McCree was starting to lose the idea that he had done something in particular to the other man and was beginning to wonder instead if his face just _looked_ like that.

It only took a few tense moments for them to reach their destination and slip into seats opposite each other. McCree made himself busy by rocking back in his chair and fiddling with a cigar and lighter, earning an annoyed look of disgust by the elder Shimada. In turn, Hanzo sat stiff and proper in the cheap plastic chair, his hair combed back by his fingers and sitting behind his ears. Even in ratty sweat pants and with no shirt, the man was the epitome of what you’d expect from an ex- _yakuza_ – hard and serious, willing to bargain or cut your throat and take what he needed. McCree was starting to question Genji’s judge of character.

“McCree, you’re supposed to be babysitting. What was so important that you- “

Winston began to mutter, eyes still trained down on a tablet in his hand while he lumbered into the room. One quick lift of the head and he was all at once aware that they were not alone, and he nearly dropped the tablet while he fumbled. Hanzo’s expression remained unchanged. McCree just shook his head.

“Oh. _Oh._ I…uh…I did not expect. I’m sorry, when Athena said ‘guest,’ I assumed…”

Finally, Hanzo made it clear that he was something more than just a marble slab with a face and held up a hand. Winston’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and he blinked nervously.

“I understand that there are questions you wish to ask of me,” Hanzo began, the very definition of collected businessman despite the obviously frustrated timber to his voice. When it was clear he was finished speaking, Winston fumbled for a response again and hurriedly flipped through his tablet. McCree watched the exchange with mild amusement, chewing on the end of his cigar.

“Y-yes, yes, I made a few notes. I was hoping…well…” He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and steeled himself. A pair of fingers adjusted his spectacles over his nose before he continued. “We need information.”

As if that had been the most obvious thing in the world, Hanzo rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the table.

“Proceed, then.”

There was a brief silence as if Winston had not been prepared for that kind of response, and after taking a second to chew on his lower lip, he tilted his head.

“Well first of all…how are you feeling?”

Hanzo eyed him sideways, immediately suspicious. “Fine.”

Winston tossed an almost pleading glance at McCree, who only shrugged and grinned a little, as if to say ‘hey, this is on you.’

“You’re…you’re sure you are all right to be out of bed? Last I spoke with the doctor, you were still-“

“Your concern is noted. _Speak_ or return my belongings and let me leave,” Hanzo snapped, patience faltering. Despite outer appearances, he was obviously uncomfortable. Judging by Winston’s expression and the way he quickly brought his eyes back down to his tablet like a kicked puppy, the feeling was mutual.  

Another awkward pause ensued before Winston barreled through his questions.

“You are Hanzo Shimada, correct? Former leader of the Shimada-gumi and brother to one of our agents, Genji Shimada?”

“Yes.” McCree could _barely_ see the sad look that flashed through the archer’s eyes before they returned to molten steel again.

“Age?”

“38.”

“Current home? Base of operations?”

“I go where I am needed,” he said icily, unwilling to divulge more than necessary.

“And you believe you are needed here?” Winston almost sounded…hopeful for a second. McCree did not like that one bit, but said nothing.

“I am here for Genji.” Once again, short and straight to the point. Winston sighed and swallowed hard but nodded nonetheless.

“I have reports here that indicate you are being pursued by the Shimada-gumi for crimes against their organization...as well as many others dispersed internationally. You currently have a bounty of…of…”

“Four billion yen,” Hanzo finished, looking bored all of a sudden. “I have heard the figure quoted to me by my pursuers many times. With the current exchange rate, I believe it translates to about $36 million.”  

“Still not as good as mine,” Jesse grinned, feeling victorious.

“Wow, it really isn’t a contest, McCree. Are you actually _proud_ of that?” Winston said, looking almost horrified. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the tablet.

“How familiar are you with the current inner workings of the Shimada-gumi, Mr. Shimada?”

“…familiar enough,” he answered vaguely. “I do not engage in conversation with my enemy. I seek to destroy them.”

“Can you tell me how many you’ve taken down so far?”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and looked at Winston, almost searching for clarification. Winston smiled nervously and tapped a stylus on the surface of the tablet he was holding, waiting to enter the figure.

"Just a rough estimate. I'll narrow it down to the last year or so."

The archer let his gaze slide to the tabletop again as if it had all the answers in the world, mulling over the question with great scrutiny.

“Five…”

“Oh! Well… that certainly wasn’t what I was expecting you’d say, but-“

“…hundred.”

You could practically _hear_ the record scratch to a halt as McCree let the legs of his chair fall forward with a thud. Winston’s tapping stopped entirely too, his eyes wide.

“…you…you heard me say ‘from the last year’?”

“Yes,” he responded coolly, though he shifted uncomfortably under the combined stares of the agents.

“That’s almost two damn people a day!” McCree exclaimed, looking both scandalized and impressed.

“You _did_ ask for an estimate,” he shot back angrily, brow furrowed. “Considering the Shimada-gumi boasts members in the _tens of_ _thousands_ , it is not nearly as many as it should be.”

“You’re shittin’ us, aren’t you? You have to be. That number’s gotta be bullshit.” McCree asked, narrowing his eyes with an accusatory glint. Hanzo growled and slapped both hands down on the table before lifting himself. He had tolerated these _people_ and this place for long enough. Forget the questions. He wanted out.

“Is this the caliber of question I am expected to entertain? Much of this information can be found online by any idiot with access to a keyboard. Give me my things, let me speak with my bro- _Genji_ , and allow me to leave and get back to my task.”

“You blew up a chunk of our damn base! _Unprovoked_ , might I add.” McCree exclaimed incredulously, standing to meet Hanzo’s glare. Once again noting how much taller the cowboy was than him, Hanzo grit his teeth and refused to back down.

“The security of your _base_ is laughable. You should thank me for pointing out its obvious _flaws_ , otherwise someone less tactful might have done so instead.”

“Oh, buddy, if you’re callin’ this _tact_ , I’d wager you have a worse grip on English than I thought.”

“At least _I_ do not choose to dress myself as some idiotic American bumpkin who chases cows!”

“Nah, you just dance around with your nipple hangin’ out like some damn drunk celebrity on a bender. A _real_ one-up on lil’ ol’ me.”

They were practically nose to nose across the table before Winston intervened. Thankfully, he’d managed to muster up a bit more confidence when he spoke, sounding much less nervous than a second ago.

“ _Gentlemen._ We can proceed when you two are thoroughly finished.”

As if suddenly remembering where they were, McCree blinked and leaned back just a little on the balls of his feet. Hanzo on the other hand immediately averted his eyes and slumped back entirely. He stole another quick glance at McCree and pressed his lips into a thin line again, thoroughly chastised. Was that a tinge of pink at the tips of his ears? McCree found himself staring while he settled back as well. Even Winston’s voice wasn’t enough to bring him back to reality completely. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Going back to your demands, Mr. Shimada, I’m afraid that’s where it…gets a little tricky,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “You see, our organization – Overwatch, as I’ve said before- is under a lot of scrutiny from…well, everyone. I’m sure you don’t really care, but we are currently operating under…’less than legal’ means, thanks to the Petras Act regulating what we can and can’t do. It’s for this reason that we need to maintain a low profile.”

“Get on with it,” Hanzo growled.

“You can’t leave.”

The archer let the words sink in with wide eyes and let his mouth open and close while he tried to find words. McCree, on the other hand, was finally coming out of his blush-induced-stupor and managed to whip his head around to Winston to say what they were both thinking.

“ _What?_ ”

Winston was pensive before answering, but McCree couldn’t help but feel like he was…happy with the situation. It set off warning bells like the 4th of July.

“Your extensive criminal past, coupled with the ludicrous sum of your bounty would only draw unwanted attention. If the governing bodies in charge found out we had sheltered a known international criminal _and_ let him go? We would be shut down before we had a chance to do what we've set out to do. Our best option at this point is to keep you here until we can develop an appropriate plan of action.”

“But _I’m_ a wanted man, Winston,” McCree pointed out, voicing his displeasure. “My bounty’s almost twice as much as his and I’m still here. Doesn’t stop you from bootin’ my ass out on those stupid recon missions twice a month.”

“It’s different, McCree. You were enlisted by Gabriel during the days of Blackwatch and before we were disbanded. I can _explain_ why you’re here. What I _can’t_ explain is why an accomplished bounty hunter and mercenary from Japan is suddenly within our ranks and why we haven’t done anything to pursue his persecution.”

“So let’s fuckin’ persecute him!” McCree exclaimed, tossing his hands into the air. He knew it was a stupid thing to say after he said it, but his mind had a way of foregoing a filter when he was angry. “And, for the record, he ain’t ‘within our ranks.’”

Winston paused for just a little too long, which made McCree eye him suspiciously again. He just smiled innocently and shrugged his shoulders, going back to tapping the stylus. Jesse’s eyes just narrowed and followed him, focused and searching.

“No, you’re right. Of course not. But, the point still stands. Until I can figure out the best course of action, you will remain here on the base, Mr. Shimada.”

Hanzo, who had been blessedly silently during this little revelation, was quietly casing the exits of the room. He’d gone from steadfast and stony to shifting and restless in seconds, his metal toes tapping against the floor like he was ready to bolt any minute. Not being used to other professionals in the room however, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Winston brought attention to it.

“You wouldn’t be able to make it from here to the front door before Athena locked everything down. Besides, you don’t have your weapons or any of your things, so unless you’re planning on escaping up that cliff injured _and_ with no gear, you’re going to have to be cooperative.”  After a moment, he smiled as genuinely as he could to attempt to soften the blow. “You have my word that there’s nothing to be worried about, though. As much as this sounds like imprisonment, I’m going to do my best to make sure you’re comfortable. You’ll be able to move around the base as much as you want, you’ll be given your own room…I was actually procuring one for you before I came here. It will be the last door at the end of the hall on the right.”

“…and my belongings?” Hanzo asked cautiously, chewing the side of his cheek.

“All of your things will be returned to you, provided you don’t use them to endanger anyone else on base. I’ll even ask Athena to let you have probationary access to our training facilities downstairs so you can maintain your skills while you’re here.”

Hanzo seemed to seriously contemplate this. He’d gone back to grinding his teeth like he had in the med lab, his jaw a tight bundle of muscle that continuously shifted and rolled under the harsh treatment.

“I do not think I have much of a choice,” he acquiesced finally.

“Good! Agent McCree, please do me a favor and return his bow and arrows. Then make sure his bag is brought back from wherever its managed to wander off to.”

Jesse was _stunned_. How had shit done such a quick 180? Just a week prior they’d been ready to keelhaul the archer for setting foot on their property and now they were ready to invite the pompous piece of shit to dinner. The guy was a damn _murderer_ and they were willing to just give him his weapons back, pat him on the ass, and say ‘play nice with the other kids.’ Jesse just looked from Winston to Hanzo and back again while his brain finished short circuiting. When another knowing look was thrown his way from the ape scientist, McCree came to a conclusion:

Winston had a plan and he damn sure didn’t like whatever it was.

“This is horseshit,” he growled, pushing his chair back to shove his hands into his pockets. Hanzo followed suit, albeit a lot more gracefully, and waited for McCree to stomp out the door. Almost as an afterthought, Hanzo bowed quickly to Winston and then followed. Even if he wasn’t altogether _enthused_ about what was going on, the scientist was going out of his way to meet him halfway. That deserved a bit of courtesy at the very least.

 

* * *

 

 

McCree was silent the whole way up to the dormitories. He hadn’t even passed Hanzo a second glance, though that would have been a bit hard seeing as how the archer had maintained a pace two to three paces behind him at all times. They finally turned the corner to the unassumingly white corridor and McCree stopped in front of the third door on the left, pressing what looked like a light switch and stepped inside when the door slid open.

From his place near the wall opposite the door, Hanzo could barely make out piles of wrinkled clothes strewn about the floor, a few half-empty bottles of liquor sitting on the floor by an unmade bed, and a collection of torn posters pasted haphazardly near a small cracked window. As if the man couldn’t get any more insufferable.

Despite the room only being the size of a walk-in closet, it took McCree a few minutes to retrieve Hanzo’s things. The archer was almost certain he was attempting to make a statement by stalling, but said nothing when he snatched his bow and quiver from the cowboy’s grasp and inspected them.

“They’re all in one piece, _Your Majesty_ ,” McCree growled, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. Just as before, Hanzo did not reply and simply glared at him before glancing down the hall in the supposed direction of his room.

“I don’t care what Winston says. You _ain’t_ welcome here.”

The archer’s eyes flicked back to the cowboy, whose expression had darkened considerably. As if that was possible. McCree was obviously hoping to get a rise out of him, but Hanzo had already given in to emotion once thanks to the man. What he got instead was a stiff exhale of breath.

“I will await Genji in my…” Hanzo was suddenly _very_ aware that he hadn’t had to say the phrase ‘my room’ in a tragically long time. Now that the words sat on the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t manage to form them. Something in his chest panged coldly and he let his eyes linger on the doors that sat in neat rows like gravestones, waiting for occupants.

“Return my bag once you have located it. Then I will have no further use for you.”

McCree sputtered again and made to respond indignantly, but wasn’t given the chance. Hanzo was stalking down the hall in the direction Winston had indicated, quiver slung over his back and bow gripped in his fist. Jesse watched him, scowling, but couldn’t help but notice the pair of eyes that peered back at him from the skin of the archer’s wrist.

When the inked blue jaws snapped in his direction and a sea of scales rolled like the sea under the archer's skin, McCree gulped, backed up, and retreated into his room. When the door slid shut and the automatic lights kicked back on, the gunslinger let his back hit the hard surface behind him. _Fuck._

There wasn’t enough booze in the world to prepare him for Hanzo Shimada.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always. You guys are great. 
> 
> Same deal as last time: since there was mostly dialogue in this chapter, I didn't have any specific songs. I'll get back with the program once I start having to really describe shit again.
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	7. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just became aware that Hanzo's legs aren't really prosthetic and are metal boots or something. For the purposes of this story, they will remain prosthetic. Hopefully that doesn't crush anyone's dreams or anything. I just like the idea that he's got metal legs. So sue me.
> 
> EDIT: We've reached 100 kudos and over 1000 hits! Wowie- you guys are the best. Keep 'em comin'!
> 
> I hope you guys don't mind that I'm cranking these chapters out so quickly. Since I can't seem to keep a regular sleep cycle, there's not much for me to do at night besides write. Plus, I like getting these things out while they are fresh in my head. If that makes sense. 
> 
> Without further ado, on with the show!
> 
> EDIT EDIT: Hi, my name is SugarMaddy and I'm bad at responding to comments. If I reply to a comment of your source and it seemingly makes no sense, it's PROBABLY because I'm looking at it from my phone and don't know how to read.
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com

Normalcy seemed to have a way of slipping back into the scheme of things at Watchpoint: Gibraltar with relative ease. Even after being presented with a sudden burst of action thanks to Hanzo’s appearance, most of the agents found themselves quietly returning to a life of routine within a few weeks. In fact, the archer himself was the only one who seemed to be completely out of sorts, having traded cranes and oriental doves for storm petrels and shearwaters. They floated on updrafts along the cliffside with broad wings, dodging the spray of waves that broke along the jagged rocks below. He’d taken to watching them during his many hours of restless contemplation, perched precariously atop one of the many shear faces that surrounded the building he’d been confined to.

He hadn’t expected this. Ever since Genji had come out of the darkness that fateful night, nothing in his life had made sense. He couldn’t help but dwell on the days there as he watched the birds, longing for a life where he could simply shrug off and leave the anchors of land as they did.

The metal construct that was once his brother had tried to speak with him, as Hanzo had demanded, before he’d been sent out on his most recent mission. Several times, in fact. Always with a calm voice and acceptance radiating from him. Always reassuring and sincere. It had been Hanzo that had turned him away in the end, unable to stomach the sight of what personified the greatest mistake of his life. The few words that had passed between them, heavy with meaning and promise, had left Hanzo inconsolable. Each attempt at a small chuckle or pat on the shoulder had Hanzo reeling, recoiling back into his mind, desperate for solitude and some semblance of normalcy for himself.

Poor Genji had eventually been chased out by the hysterical dragon on their first meeting, looking as shaken to the core himself as was physically possible. The other agents who were witness to it had sighed and offered Genji murmurs of pity and shaky smiles, all of which were laughed off lightly and eased away.

But the Sparrow was nothing if not persistent.

He was at Hanzo’s door in between every training session and briefing, lightly rapping on the surface before sliding within. The exchanges now were brief and stilted, but progress was progress. Genji was grateful for whatever he could get, and Hanzo was slowly but surely becoming used to the idea that he was no longer the only _living_ son of Sojiro Shimada. That did not, however, mean that he was becoming more sociable with anyone else.

Hanzo was a ghost, plain and simple. The only signs of his presence as he moved throughout the base were a fleeting glance of gold or the hollow _thwack_ of a distant arrow meeting a target. He remained absent during each mealtime, gathering or training session. The man seemed to deeply prefer it this way and no one but Genji made any real effort to change it. So, in a way, this became the new norm.

The relative calm of the ocean was broken when the MV-261 crested over his head, scattering the birds like roaches with its approach. Hanzo watched it from his hiding place, arms folded, as it zipped to the landing pad and blasted its engines downward to brace. With one last resigned look over the sea, Hanzo slid his back up against the rock to stand. A few quick leaps and he was perched on the edge of the roof overlooking the aircraft as its occupants exited.

Lena was the first, hopping from the cockpit and shaking out her brown hair as she was greeted by Winston, Fareeha, and Reinhardt. As they exchanged quiet pleasantries, Angela made her appearance, donned in her pristine white lab coat with her brilliant blond ponytail struggling against the wind. The sight of her made Hanzo wince inwardly. She’d given him quite the earful once she’d discovered he’d left the lab, but seeing as how she was just as reluctant to have him back in the med bay as he was, she’d let him off the hook. Provided he see her once a week for progress reports.

“Yo, yo, _yo._ This place is off the _hooook!_ I can’t be _lieve_ this is actually happening. ‘Lucio Correia dos Santos: Overwatch agent.’ I think…I think I’m gonna cry. Seriously. Actual _tears_ , man.”

Hanzo blinked as his vision was all but _forced_ to the next occupant to leave the craft. He had never seen anyone so loud and vivacious in appearance in his life, and he almost found himself shielding his eyes from the overtly bright colors, boundless energy, and dazzling smile. He had dark skin and a real flair for the color green.

“Yo, Hana! Come check this _out_ , girl! It’s got this whole…” He snapped his fingers in a steady rhythm, looking for the correct word. “…’Fortress of Solitude’ thing goin’ on. Get _hype!_ We’re gonna be heroes, ya’ll!”

“Fortress of…what?” A young girl was coming down the exit ramp, a portable gaming system in both hands while she blew a pink bubble with her gum. She had two faint pink whiskers drawn on each cheek and had a light accent to her high-pitched voice. Hanzo cocked his head to the side. Korean?

“Uh, Fortress of Solitude? Y’know… _Superman_? Alien dude? Wears his underwear on the outside?”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her eyes hadn’t lifted from the screen of her portable console. The one calling himself Lucio pressed a hand to his chest, looking genuinely horrified. Hanzo couldn’t help but feel a little amused at the conversation.

“Ah, a _classic,_ ” Reinhardt boomed, slapping Lucio on the back with a hearty laugh. “You and I will get along fine, my young friend!”

“Oh. _Jeez,_ I think you broke something there, man. Someone _please_ tell me my eyes are still in my head.”

Hanzo almost felt a pang of jealousy when they all laughed and greeted the two. Winston smiled proudly from where he stood, offering a curt nod to Genji and McCree as they exited, the last aboard the aircraft. The Sparrow gave a light bow in response and McCree tipped his hat, both looking tired but otherwise none the worse for wear. Hanzo could have sworn that he saw McCree’s eyes flick up to him briefly when they all moved inside, but he had to have imagined it.

 

* * *

 

  

The two youngest members of the transport were Lucio Correia dos Santos and Hana “D.Va” Song, respectively. Both were incredibly gifted for their age in their own, unique way, forced to grow up much too fast thanks to a world of conflict around them.

Lucio was loud enough to be heard through the thin walls of the base without assistance. He was a DJ, apparently, and spent most of his time either talking, beat boxing, or fidgeting with speakers. He hailed from Rio de Janeiro, having attained infamy by battling the Vishkar Corporation, a large, faceless organization that had threatened to turn his poor but happy community into an enslaved source of cheap labor. With the help of the Brazilian people, Lucio had forced Vishkar out and become something of a national treasure.

Hana, on the other hand, was an accomplished gamer from Korea. She’d been drafted into the military, along with other top stars, and eventually boasted a stellar military record thanks to her unparalleled MEKA piloting skills. Her large pink battle suit sat unused in the aircraft hangar, waiting to whet its appetite for omnic carnage.

After catching wind of their individual levels of prowess, Winston had tasked Genji and McCree with making contact and eventually retrieving both as new members. It had to be done quickly and quietly, lest the wrong attention be turned upon them.

During their brief attempt at bonding, Genji had gushed about both to Hanzo in the safety of his room. Almost predicting his brother’s lack of social graces, Genji had taken the liberty of offering up as many facts about the pair as he could, much to Hanzo’s eventual irritation. It was a nice change of pace from their usual topics, so Genji had ended up pleasantly surprised when Hanzo sat and listened silently instead of pacing or growling at him. Again, progress was progress.

It still didn’t stop Hanzo from avoiding everyone else. Ignoring Genji’s gentle prodding and coaxing, the archer continued to skulk around in the dark instead of making any attempt at social interaction. At night when sleep seemed impossible, he had started taking advantage of the large training facilities underground. Just as it had beyond the walls of the facility, unconsciousness only came to him when he was weary down to his bones and ready to collapse. It usually waited until the early hours of the morning before the sun rose while everyone else slept.

He couldn’t help but be surprised one night when another presence interrupted his ritual.

The high ceilings and dusty rafters offered a welcome respite when Hanzo was too tired to train but too amped to sleep. He’d picked out a nice spot in the far corner above the main entryway, away from prying eyes. With one leg hanging off the side, Storm Bow resting comfortingly nearby and his head lolled back against the wall, he sat and thought. It barely registered when the sound of worn leather and spurred heels made its way across the floor, echoing loudly thanks to the vast space.

The archer’s head snapped up.

Much to his chagrin, it was, of course, the cowboy. After their little exchange of words in the hallway, Hanzo had gone out of his way to avoid him most of all. While the others had seemed neutral to his presence at best, McCree had staunchly voiced his opposition to it from the get-go. Genji had adamantly defended his character and encouraged the archer to make amends somehow, but neither he nor Jesse had seemed too keen on the idea. Hanzo had been perfectly fine with that. He wasn’t there to make friends. He was only there because he _had_ to be.

But that didn’t stop the fact that McCree was there.

The man was dressed in what Hanzo could only assume were his night clothes…which only made the leather and spurs all the more laughable. He’d forgone the cowboy hat, instead opting for a low, short ponytail to make some sort of sense of his messy hair. He wore no flannel, which was unusual. Instead, a ubiquitous red t-shirt stretched across his torso.

He hadn’t noticed that Hanzo was there.

The archer fought internally. Some part of him screamed to leave. His hiding spot had been compromised. He needed to find a new one.

But then there was that other part.

He was honestly…curious. He couldn’t quite explain why. In need of some sort of justification, Hanzo eyed the gun in McCree’s holster. When the man reached for it, focus on the targets strewn across the opposite wall, Hanzo arched an interested brow. So far, he’d seen absolutely _no_ reason why the man was considered an agent at all. He was boorish, slovenly, and it looked like his mouth was the _only_ part that had received regular exercise.

Okay, that made Hanzo flush a little. Scowling, he pushed it away. He had no time for idiotic thoughts.

So then what was his value? Comic relief? Were they so desperate for active members? Genji had told Hanzo that he was a good man, but being good was not enough to achieve victory. In fact, most of the time, it got people killed.

As soon as the first shot rang out, Hanzo’s train of thought had run right off the rails.

If you were to ask Hanzo later about the first time he’d seen McCree – really _seen_ McCree – he would have mentioned that moment. With his feet spread and his gaze unwavering, the man had gone from hopeless clown to fierce predator. A snap of his wrist was all it took for bullets to fly in rapid succession, each finding the dead center of a target. One after another.

It didn’t matter where they were. Some were high, some were low. Others had been moved to sit behind obstacles or rigged to move. McCree hit them all without fail. It didn’t even look like a challenge.

Hanzo could only stare…and it only got worse when the cowboy took off his shirt.

What McCree lacked in definition he made up for with pure solid muscle. He was built like a gladiator, deep scars darting across his sides and the back of his neck. He had broad shoulders and strong, hairy arms that stood in stark contrast to the relatively hairless back he sported. A tattoo sat between his shoulder blades, but try as he might, Hanzo couldn’t make out what it was. It looked old and lacked in any real skill, but the archer concluded that it _fit_ him somehow. His mouth had gone dry. Before he could stop himself, he began to wonder what it’d all feel like beneath his fingertips.

But McCree was moving again, reloading his gun by flipping out the barrel and digging into his pockets. Hanzo watched with rapt attention, trying to memorize every little twitch, roll, or stretch. Oddly enough, he had never developed any real skill with firearms. Believing that they should be relegated to the grunts and lesser brothers since they didn’t require any real prowess to kill, Hanzo’s father had forbade him to use them. Real warriors attained honor through training, not the careless spattering of bullets. Seeing McCree now, though, it all seemed so silly.

They remained that way for hours. At some point, Hanzo had given up his reclining position in favor of one that gave him a better view, crouched on the balls of his feet while his palms kept him steady. When McCree started whistling, Hanzo found the way the sound carried pleasant somehow. All of this was…strange, but he had been so caught off guard by the whole display that he hadn’t taken the time to question it.

“You gonna cool your heels up there all night, or are you gonna actually come down here an’ make yourself useful?”

Hanzo’s blood ran cold. He…he couldn’t have been talking to him, could he?

“Come on, dragon boy. I ain’t lookin’ for a fight.”

Shit. Shit shit _shit._

It only took a second for Hanzo to school his expression into one of stony annoyance and make his way down to the floor. The sharp clunk of metal against stone signaled his approach, and McCree turned to regard him before going back to the targets.

“Is that where you’ve been hidin’ all this time? I was startin’ to wonder where you’d gone off to.”

Hanzo frowned. “I was unaware that my whereabouts were the concern of anyone, much less _you._ ” The response came out with a bit more bite than usual as Hanzo worked to compensate for his embarrassment. For once, McCree took it in stride and shrugged.

“Hey, can’t blame a guy for bein’ curious. One minute you’re here causin’ a ruckus, an’ the next you’re practically invisible. Just wonderin’ what that’s all about.”

“It isn’t any of your business,” Hanzo replied, eyeing the ground instead of the back of the man in front of him. Now that he was close enough and at eye-level, he could see that the tattoo was a skull chomping down on a pair of dice. Unusual – there was probably a story behind it.

“Yeah, guess not,” McCree replied with a sigh, firing another bullseye with relative ease.

The silence between them became unbearable for some reason. Hanzo found himself moving from foot to foot restlessly, but couldn’t seem to make himself leave. When at one time the lack of conversation would have been welcome, now it was…vacant. The feeling was not one he relished.

“You possess a great deal of skill.”

The words exited his mouth before he could stop them. He was distinctly aware of the warmth radiating in his face when McCree turned and looked at him, surprised and then smiling. Out of reflex, the other man went to tip his hat, but shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair when he realized it wasn’t there.

“Thanks. It’s taken us a long time, but me an’ Peacekeeper here are one hell of a team.”  He held up the gun and spun it quickly on his index finger, earning an unbidden look of awe from the archer. McCree looked amused, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. Hanzo cleared his throat and thanks to the way his stomach did a little flip, suddenly decided that he’d _definitely_ overstayed his welcome.

“I apologize for interrupting,” he muttered, adjusting his quiver as he turned to leave. He was Hanzo Shimada for crying out loud. He needed to stay focused, not spend his nights mooning over some imbecile like a schoolboy –

“I could show you sometime. If you want.”

Hanzo stopped dead. That…had not been expected, but when he didn’t turn or signify that he’d heard him, McCree continued.

“Look…Genj and I…we talked while we were on that mission. Shit, couldn’t do much _but_ talk since most of it was just waitin’ around for one thing or another. Damn recon bullshit.” He paused and looked away, kicking his foot against the ground uselessly.

“I guess…I guess what I’m _tryin’_ to say is that _maybe_ I let you off the hook too easy by hollerin’ at you ike I did. If anyone on the whole planet had reason to be pissed at you, it’s Genj, an’ since he’s in your corner…well, I reckon there’s a reason. Ain’t no respectin’ a man when he can’t admit when he’s wrong, so…”

Hanzo turned to look at his face, brows pinched and back stiff. McCree looked so…hopeful. It was enough to make the archer deflate, if only a little. Cursing himself for being so soft, he sighed and grit his teeth.

“I suppose I… _apologize_ as well. I was quick to judge you by your appearance alone. Now that I have seen how you handle yourself…I will also admit that I was… _wrong_.” The words felt like stones in his mouth, but he forced them out all the same and followed with a quick, awkward bow. McCree seemed satisfied and offered another smile that had Hanzo questioning what the hell he was doing. Matters only got worse when there was a metal hand thrust in his direction.

“Jesse McCree. At your service. Call me Jesse.”

Hanzo stared at the hand like it was a snake ready to strike, but telling himself that he was doing this for Genji, took it and shook.

“Shimada Hanzo. Shimada will do.”

“Aw, can’t call you ‘Hanzo’?”

“Do not push your luck, cowboy.”  

And thus, Hanzo Shimada’s days of avoiding people came to an abrupt, but pleasant, halt. Somewhere off in the distance, Genji was smiling behind his faceplate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Things are happening! 
> 
> And Lucio and Hana are here! 
> 
> And Hanzo doesn't know shit about guns! 
> 
> I should probably sleep! 8D
> 
> Keep feedin' me those comments and kudos, ya'll. They give me liiiiiife. 
> 
>  
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/5frKigZGLdw) Ibuki - Yoshida Brothers  
> (https://youtu.be/NLJRedX8Cng) Mama Said Knock You Out - LL Cool J (for Lucio)  
> (https://youtu.be/r5OgQCvqbYA) Smack My Bitch Up (Noisa Remix) - The Prodigy (for Hana)  
> (https://youtu.be/v4z0VRA-jF0) Don't Tell Me - Madonna
> 
> Yeah...these playlists are gonna be random as hell.


	8. Tit for Tat

_Darkness greeted him again. Familiar. Crushing._

_The fear that crept its way into his bones like spiders was a presence he’d met here thousands of times. He’d let it devour him. Twist him. Cast him into the abyss like dice at a casino. It whittled away his thoughts, ate away at reality. It made him doubt. Ache. Rage. Cry._

_But this time was not like last time. This time, he knew where he was._

_He knew dark tile beneath his knees. He knew the long boardroom table that stretched endlessly into nothingness, dark mahogany and lemon-scented wax. He knew the sound of a crystal decanter being lifted and its dark contents being poured with ice._

_The shadow flickered where it stood, shimmering like heat on pavement. An eye, burning like fiery coal, fixed him where he stood. Made him feel small. Alone. Numb._

_It touched him. His shoulder smoldered and the tatters of black cloth beneath faded into ash as the shadow snaked out to meet it. The ground dropped out beneath and the blue marble eyes of eels stared up. Hungry. Dangerous. Waiting._

_But he was born of lead and fire and steel. He was steadfast. He was a Shimada._

‘You know what needs to be done.”

_Flame lapped at invisible lips above and he watched as smoke poured from his own. The eels whispered, repeating the words until they were meaningless syllables. He was suddenly surrounded. Glasses lifted. Emptied. Refilled._

_All at once, he did. He knew._

‘Let it end.’

_It was in unison. All around him. Filling his mind. His body. His soul._

_When he raised his head, emptiness greeted him. It did not matter. With the last of his voice, he answered the void._

‘Yes.’

_Amidst the hidden horizon of the deep, a blue ribbon of ice cut through. Then another._

_They called his name._

_He woke up._

* * *

 

It was about two o’clock in the morning when McCree found him, agitated and trapped in his own head.

It’d become something of a familiar sight to see the elder Shimada sibling launching arrows at a target in the dead of night. He no longer seemed bothered by the loud clangor of spurs when he exited the elevator or the scent of cigar smoke and whiskey. This time, though, the sight of the archer slamming arrow after arrow into the same helpless target held more than just routine. He was that spooked horse on the plains again, fleeing from a terror that Jesse just couldn’t see.

The gunslinger halted nearby and remained quiet for a second, letting Hanzo pull back his bowstring stiffly and release mindlessly. The repetitive _thwack_ every few seconds filled the space around and between them, but surprisingly Hanzo was the first to break the pattern.

“I am in no mood for your yammering idiocy tonight, cowboy.”

It almost made Jesse laugh, but he held it back for Hanzo’s benefit.

“I didn’t say anythin’.”

“A matter of time. You are _always_ saying things.”

The gunslinger held out both palms in mock defense and settled down into an easy crouch to watch. As usual, he’d left his trademark serape in his room and sported a ratty open flannel and dark gray t-shirt. He was barefoot, holstered and clad in thick white sweatpants. In usual McCree fashion, nothing matched.

For a time, he watched Hanzo like that. As always, he was a textbook illustration of perfect battle stance and poise – feet spread, back straight, chin up. His _kyudo-gi_ was pressed and tailored, thanks to a quick trip by Genji into town, and the gold ribbon that adorned his hair wafted gently down his back like the fins of a koi.

It was funny how when you were presented with the same thing over and over, the tiniest details began to stick out.

Tonight, Hanzo’s hair was out of place and knotted around his face. The ribbon hung more loosely and allowed tiny bits to escape its grasp like thin black snakes. The way his shoulders twitched as the arrow flew meant he’d been there for hours. He was grinding his teeth and narrowing his eyes at every shot, disappointment radiating from him despite the almost inevitable attainment of a bullseye.

Well, Jesse McCree was never one to ignore the elephant in the room for long.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or am I gonna have to keep sittin’ here twiddlin’ my damn thumbs all night?”

McCree could predict the response before he even got it, and found himself mouthing the words as Hanzo said them.

“It is none of your business.”

McCree shook his head and, after a second of deliberation, lifted a small silver flask from a baggy pants pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. ‘Shut your trap, Jess.’ Regardless, though…,” He offered the flask to the other man, waving it a little to indicate he should take it, “…looks like you could use this.”

Hanzo stopped and stared at it like McCree was offering him dog shit. Unperturbed, McCree just smiled wider and shook it again, eyebrows raising expectantly. The archer hesitated, eyed the flask again, and allowed a strong arm to snatch out and grab it like he half expected it to shock him. McCree just nodded in satisfaction and settled back on his haunches.

The archer twisted off the cap and gave it a testing sniff before bringing it to his lips and taking a long swig. McCree found his attention drawn to the bob of his Adam’s apple and the stray drop of brown liquor that slid from the corner of his mouth. He swallowed hard and bit down on the tip of his tongue to keep from whistling low in appreciation.

He couldn’t help but guffaw when Hanzo came up for breath and coughed haggardly.

“That is _foul_ ,” he hissed, thrusting the flask back at the cowboy.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that little concoction’s been agin’ away in my wine cellar, just waitin’ for a moment like this.” At Hanzo’s incredulous expression, McCree smirked and shrugged before taking a sip himself. “…sock drawer.”

“You are disgusting,” the man replied, but McCree could _swear_ it didn’t come off with as much bite as usual. McCree had to make a conscious effort to tamp down on the weird swell of pride in his gut from the notion. He tossed it up to the beautiful powers of good liquor.

Silence reigned again, but this time it was a tad more comfortable. Jesse let his eyes roam around the room in an effort to have them rest anywhere but on the man in front of him. The gunslinger was near forty, for Christ’s sake. He was too old for fuckin’ hormones, but _hell_ if Hanzo wasn’t attractive. Jesse was stupid, not blind.

When Hanzo didn’t seem keen on returning to the previous task of murdering the inanimate target a hundred feet away, McCree broke the silence. Again.

“You still, uh. Still interested in learnin’ how t’shoot?” The offer had silently been on the table for a few nights now, but since then it hadn’t been brought up again. That didn’t mean it hadn’t been plaguing McCree’s mind ever since. Hanzo’s childlike fascination with his gun had made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

 _‘I know another gun of mine that’d be sure to please…,’_ he thought to himself, though he couldn’t help but feel ashamed at how dumb it sounded even in his head. Sure, he was the master of cheesy innuendos of pick-up lines but this was hardly the time. He was damn lucky the archer couldn’t read minds.

Hanzo shifted and let his bow hit the floor so that he could rest against it. Eying McCree warily, he turned his head and looked at him sideways.

“I know how to shoot,” he said matter-of-factly. McCree rolled his eyes but a grin cracked his lips anyway.

“A _gun_ , Shimada. Quit fuckin’ with me – you know what I mean. You want me to teach y’how to shoot _a gun._ ”

Another few beats passed before Hanzo gave in and answered.

“I…would. Yes.”

McCree couldn’t help but beam. Hanzo just looked uncomfortable and glanced away at his expression, but for some reason that just made McCree happier. But he couldn’t just leave it like that. No, McCree had to press his luck – bet it all and hope for the best. What was life without a little risk?

“…all right, tell you what,” he began, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a few leisurely steps around the other. “I teach _you_ how to handle ol’ Peacekeeper here…and _you_ pay me back by teachin’ _me_ somethin’.”

 Hanzo looked suspicious.

“…referring to what, exactly?”

McCree shrugged and smiled back, which just made Hanzo look even more suspicious.

“I wanna learn about you.”

The archer took a stiff step back and looked away, furrowing his brow. Jesse stopped his casual stroll and watched him, cataloguing his expression with curious brown eyes.

“That…is not possible.”

McCree blew a raspberry with his lips and rolled his eyes again, drawing Hanzo’s attention back to him.

“Of course it’s possible. I ain’t askin’ for a damn diary entry. Just…somethin’ simple. Favorite food, favorite movie. Shit like that.”

“I am not here to make _friends_ ,” Hanzo growled, his hand gripping on Storm bow a little tighter. McCree held up a hand and shook his head.

“Woooah there, partner. I didn’t say anythin’ about bein’ friends. I’m just tryin’ to get to know the man behind the frown. Nothin’ else to it.”

“…why?” Hanzo asked, his voice a lot softer than McCree had been expecting. Swallowing down a sudden lump in his throat, Jesse just shrugged again and let his head tilt to the side a little. Hanzo immediately looked away and went red in the face, but McCree ignored it.

“Cuz I’m selfish, I guess. No one else here knows anythin’ about you ‘sides Genji, and he don’t count. I wanna be able to say I’m the one guy on base who knows what Shimada Hanzo, master badass, eats with his cornflakes in the mornin’.”

“…I do not eat cornflakes.”

“See? It ain’t so bad,” he chuckled, kicking a patch of invisible dirt. Glancing back up, he smiled and held up a finger. “One fun fact for one lesson. Sounds like a pretty good offer to me.”

With baited breath, Jesse watched and waited while Hanzo contemplated his offer. Why the hell was this so nerve-wracking? Why couldn’t he tear himself away from the way Hanzo rolled his jaw or the way he balled his fists? Why was he hoping so hard for him to agree?

“…rice.”

McCree blinked.

“Huh?” Real articulate, McCree.

“I…eat rice in the morning. And I have collected some packets of instant soup along my travels. They…they keep well.”

The words sounded like a foreign language for a second, but they eventually registered, rattling around in McCree’s skull like moths hitting a lightbulb. He was too busy being distracted by the way Hanzo’s tattoo rippled with his exposed muscle, the scales of the powerful dragon seeming to come alive when he moved.

“…you know we got a kitchen, right?” was his only response, which earned a growl from Hanzo. McCree instantly regretted sounding so inattentive to the meaning of the rather innocuous factoid.

“This was an idiotic idea,” he snapped, quickly gathering his things. McCree sputtered and rushed forward to halt him.

“Shit, no, I mean…thanks. That’s…that’s all I wanted.”

Hanzo stilled and met McCree’s eyes, making the gunslinger freeze in his boots. After a few thrums of his own heartbeat in his ears, Jesse _swore_ he saw a glimmer of that smirk again.

“…you are easily satisfied.”

“Yeah…yeah I get that a lot.” For being the self-appointed master of lazy double entendre, the implication of that statement took _way_ too long to sink in. He was blessed with what he could only assume was an amused snort from the archer as he passed him towards the door. Jesse could only follow him with his gaze, gawping like a fish.

“H-hey! Shimada, don’t I owe you a lesson?”

The archer tossed a glance over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow. I have had my fill of stupidity for one night.”

It wasn’t until his metallic steps had faded into the distance that McCree realized something.

He’d just had an _actual conversation_ with Hanzo Shimada.

 

* * *

 

 

_“…Incidents of human-on-omnic violence have been reported in the country in record-high numbers following the assassination of spiritual leader and peace advocate Tekhartha Mondatta. Katya Volskaya, CEO of Volskaya Industries, has confirmed rumors that due to the unprecedented reactivation of the Siberian omnium, many of the country’s resources have been tasked to developing new technologies to fight the omnic scourge…”_

“That’s bloody awful,” Lena sighed her legs curled up beneath her from her place on the couch. She and a few of the other members were busying themselves with watching television since dinner was now over. Fareeha and Angela shared the responsibility of doing the dishes, but couldn’t help but be distracted by the somber news reflected back at them. The reporter’s crisp brown bob hung gracefully beneath her ears as she read from the teleprompter, flashes of violence and snow-covered machinery playing on her left.

“We should all just move to Numbani,” Fareeha commented idly, handing a wet dish to Angela so she could dry it.

“You ever been?” Lucio asked, flipping through the catalogue of music that he’d loaded into his tablet with vague interest. Angela hummed in response, but eventually nodded her head as she pressed the cloth into the dish to buff out a spot.

“Once, though I was just passing through the airport. Have you?”

“Oh yeah. Place was crazy. I played a concert there, like what, two months back? It was _so cool_ seeing everyone just come together and be in the groove, you know? Like how things are _supposed_ to be. Just nothing but good vibrations.”

“Maybe for a vacation…” Fareeha murmured, giving Angela a gentle nudge with her hip.

“Overwatch takes no vacations!” Reinhardt boomed from the chair at the small folding table, hitting his chest with a fist. “Justice takes no vacations!”

“Reinhardt, dude, I love you, but I just can’t take you seriously when you say stuff like that.” Lucio said with a smile, wiggling his toes in the green socks he had on.

“We haven’t even done anything yet!” Lena piped up with a light laugh. “Shouldn’t you actually see some action before you start requestin’ vacations?”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

All eyes turned to Winston, who was frowning at the screen of his tablet while he entered. Somberly, he looked up and took inventory of the agents in the room before clearing his throat. Angela stepped forward and put down the dish she’d been holding, Fareeha moving to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Athena just picked up on some kind of… signal interference from Detroit. Nothing substantial yet, but it’s honestly…troubling.”

“What’s the issue, luv?” Lena asked, leaning forward a little.

The scientist pursed his lips and pushed up his spectacles before pressing a button on the tablet and turning his attention to the television. Following suit, the agents present looked towards the screen and were graced with security cam stills. In each, there was only one constant – a black hooded figure with a sharp white mask. He flitted from one still to the next, spotted behind buildings or moving like a wraith amidst rubble. Close to the old omnium. _Too_ close. When its attention turned to stare into the camera, Lucio jumped back a bit and pulled a face. Winston was not amused.

“Talon’s been busy.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 100% did not intend to knock out an entire chapter tonight. 
> 
> Well, guess what. 
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/P9BfvPjsXXw) We're In This Together - Nine Inch Nails  
> (https://youtu.be/t3baifH7bhI) Mysterons - Portishead  
> (https://youtu.be/vSjulGTu1ss) You Don't Know Me - Ben Folds  
> (https://youtu.be/yJjEsGUxlJA) Flashed Junk Mind - Milky Chance
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	9. The Elevator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some really, really minor sexual stuff later in this chapter. Nothing crazy. Brief boner mention. 8}

A flickering light against a dusty black ceiling was the only thing to illuminate the two figures that sat beneath it, hunched with their backs to opposite walls. There were no obvious signs of struggle or conflict, but both were grumbling softly to themselves and continuously taking stock of their tiny metal prison.

McCree and Hanzo had been stuck in that fucking _elevator_ for twenty minutes now.

McCree took a moment, since there was nothing else to do, to think back on how they’d gotten there. The day had started predictably enough – black coffee, a bowl of soggy oats, and another quick glance at the news while it played continuously on the flat screen in the mess hall.

The meeting about the cam stills from Detroit was scheduled so fast it could make your head spin. All agents currently on base were present, leaving only Fareeha and Torbjorn missing – they’d been dispatched on a quick supply run. Winston assured that they would have their own briefing when they returned. Nothing was more important than this.

With a still of the hooded figure on the screen to his back, Winston explained what they knew and, more importantly, what they didn’t know. Like, for instance, who or what the man in the stills was.

What they did know: the Detroit omnium, which had been taken out of commission for obvious reasons during the Crisis, was still offline. For now. If the recent events in Russia were any sort of indicator, there was no guarantee that it would stay that way. The surrounding area was, for the most part, unpopulated save for some junk scavengers that still squatted in a few dilapidated ruins.

Or at least it _used_ to be mostly unpopulated. Recent drone flyovers done by Athena had shown Talon agents, donning their trademark black facemasks and body armor, swarming the city like rats. Much of their activity was quiet – a lot of cargo transport and unloading -  which explained how no one besides Athena had picked up on their presence yet. Nevertheless, it didn’t bode well. The glower on Winston’s face as he answered their questions only made the agents feel more uneasy.

Now, to the bigger piece: what they didn’t know.

Talon’s goal in this whole endeavor was…murky, at best. Winston had homed in on several large warehouses near the omnium that trucks continued to pour in and out of. It was possible that they were stockpiling weapons, maybe even using them as a cover to conduct experimentation. While that second option seemed less plausible given their love of secrecy, nothing was impossible.

What _really_ had the agents squirming was the mention of the unknown Talon operative that floated between the ranks like smoke.

Thanks to Hana, they had been able to hack part of the less secure sectors of Talon’s database. The faces of lower-class operatives, nothing more than grunts, flashed up with names, basic information and lists of credentials. There had only been a few hits regarding the Reaper, as Winston called him, most of which had been redacted using big black boxes over thin, professional text. There were no pictures. The only basic information they could glean came from e-mails sent by less-than-cautious higher ups to each other.

Mentions of a contract. Talk of the paranormal. Recounts of events mixed with expletives and words of disbelief.

Only Winston’s eye-witness testimony provided anything concrete. He’d only seen the Reaper once, face to face. He, if you could call it a he, had commanded a legion of Talon operatives to attach the Gibraltar base just before the recall. He’d tried to hack Athena’s mainframe and gain information about the inactive agents scattered around the world. He’d been fine with using Talon grunts as cannon fodder so long as he’d reached his goal.

But Winston had stopped it all from coming to fruition. _Barely_.

With a faraway look and a distracted expression, Winston described a figure that was altogether incorporeal. He floated on plumes of smoke and spoke like a hiss of wind through dead trees. The only things that even indicated that he was a working Talon agent were his two twin shotguns. McCree frowned a little at that.

He’d known someone _else_ who carried two shotguns like that. A long time ago.

Ultimately, the briefing came down to one, lone conclusion: whatever Talon was up to, it wasn’t good. And it needed to be nipped in the bud. Immediately.

In a week’s time, a seven-agent team would be sent to Detroit to intercept and, hopefully, destroy whatever Talon was up to. It would be incredibly risky – the drones had indicated up to twenty-five operatives guarded units near the omnium. And those were only the ones they could see. However, there were moments of opportunity. Every six hours there was a guard change. Units that stood watch would come together and enter an armored truck, which was then driven off and replaced with a new regiment.

If they could intercept one of those guard trucks and pose as Talon operatives themselves, they could make it in without being seen. _Maybe._ That would turn the mission from one of decimation to one of sabotage, which Winston seemed infinitely more comfortable with.

McCree, Fareeha, Angela, Lena, and Hana would be the ones to wear the disguises as they could pass off the most inconspicuously. Genji and Lucio would wait outside the perimeter as back-up if they were needed, and Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Winston would remain back at base.

After going over the basic rundown, all gave a tentative nod of understanding and left the briefing in a haze of anticipation and dread.

A feeling that McCree now drowned in, thanks to his current spot on the elevator floor with a rather sour-looking archer.

Oddly enough, it had been Hanzo who had appeared at the other man’s door earlier than expected. That night after the briefing, while McCree had been nursing a large glass of whiskey to calm his nerves, the stoic man had knocked on his door and all but dragged him out of his room and into the training area. He’d made McCree put him through his paces – worked them both to the bone amidst cordial banter and occasional questions. And then it’d happened again. And again. And again.

So, there they were, two nights before the mission, and they were stuck in a damned elevator.

Try as he might, McCree couldn’t really be too angry about the whole thing. It’d been his idea in the first place to teach the archer how to shoot. He should have expected that he would take advantage of the offer like he had everything thus far – forcefully and with everything he had. And McCree actually _liked_ spending time with Hanzo. There was that, too.

So far, he’d found out that Hanzo’s favorite color was blue. That he liked classical music and, surprisingly, that he knew how to dance. He’d learned that he was very picky with his seafood and didn’t like shrimp. His favorite season was spring.

In turn, he’d shown Hanzo how to hold and load a revolver. How to take it apart and put it back together again. Then how to hit a target from ten paces. Then twenty. Then forty. He was a quick learner and absorbed everything like a sponge. He’d even relented when Jesse moved close to put his hand over Hanzo’s and press against his back– a clumsy excuse to touch him disguised as a correction of stance.

Now they sat in silence in that little moving box, Hanzo’s hand occasionally reaching up to press the distress button so hard it nearly broke in half. Comms were off – agents were asleep. McCree had remembered too late that Athena was doing one of her core system scans – she would be no use either.

“This is unbelievable.”

It was Hanzo, staring down at the floor. He was stringing and unstringing Storm Bow in a sort of comforting repetition that McCree found himself watching. Adept fingers pulled the bowstring taut and tightened, testing the tension, before they undid their work and let it loosen again. After a minute, Jesse took off his hat, having remembered it this time, and fanned himself with it.

“Yeah, s’pretty shitty, I will admit. Startin’ to think we shoulda just let Torb line the damn thing with machine guns if it meant it’d actually work.”

“…why would an elevator need machine guns? Is that a common Overwatch practice?”

“Ask Torb,” McCree laughed, shrugging. They fell back into convivial silence before McCree, as usual, had to break it again.

“Hey Shimada? I’ve…been meanin’ to ask you somethin’,” he started, worrying the brim of his hat with both hands. Hanzo stopped what he was doing to eye him warily, but Jesse didn’t look up. With a snort, Hanzo let Storm Bow lean near his side so he could turn his attention to him fully.

“Is this another question about me? We have already had our lesson tonight.”

“No, no. Well, yeah, it is about you, but it ain’t like that,” McCree smiled, seeing Hanzo relax a little. He went back to playing with his hat. “That day you showed up…all banged up and sick. How’d that happen?”

Hanzo brought his knees up so he could balance his arms on them. McCree finally took detailed notice of the cleverly built metal prosthetics that started from Hanzo’s knees, taking in the intricate panels and parts.

“I was…careless. I had let an enemy get the better of me,” he said simply, finding the answer sufficient. 

“A guy that was after you’re bounty?”

Hanzo hummed in the affirmative and shrugged his tattooed shoulder while he remembered the wound.

“Genj said your pa taught ya’ both how to treat wounds like that, though.”

The implication made Hanzo go tense again and McCree cursed himself for being so indelicate. The archer caught him in that hawkish stare and in any other circumstance, that would have been the end of the conversation. When Hanzo spoke, McCree reeled back in surprise.

“He is correct. Our father did train us in basic and advanced survival techniques.” He paused and his countenance softened just a hair, his shoulders drooping. Enough for McCree to see it even in the dim flickering light. “That…does not mean that I have always acted with my best interest in mind. There are…some days when the act of simply surviving loses its importance. The day we met was unfortunately one of those days.”

Jesse furrowed his brows and watched as Hanzo looked away. The cowboy scooted clumsily on his ass a few inches closer, leaning to catch the archer’s eyes again. For once, he couldn’t really think of anything to say, so he just offered a comforting smile and patted Hanzo’s knee with his metal hand. The archer snorted and shook his head ruefully before letting it fall back behind him.

“And to think, I survived _that_ only to die in a broken elevator with an oaf. The ancestors really are cruel.”

McCree blinked owlishly at him and let his eyebrows fly off into his hairline.

“Did…did you…was that a _joke_? Did you just try an’ be _funny_ , Shimada?” he asked with a wide grin, earning a glare from his companion.

“Of course not. I am simply stating facts.”

“Sure sounded like a joke to me.”

“Then I suggest you make a trip to the med bay. I am sure Angela will be happy to check your hearing for abnormalities.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, darlin’.” McCree ignored the growl he got for the use of the pet name. Instead, like he usually did, Jesse decided to press his luck. Bet it all and see what happens.

The metallic hand that rested on Hanzo’s knee slid downwards just a bit until rubbery fingertips brushed over silvery artificial sinew. The archer watched him but for some reason allowed the pawing.

“How’d you lose ‘em?”

The cowboy waited for the typical ‘it’s none of your business’ and almost blurted out an apology. But he wouldn’t need one. Hanzo just shrugged noncommittally and folded his arms. “I did not lose them. I _offered_ them.”

“You…what?” Jesse asked, wondering if he’d heard him right.

“I offered them. To honor my family name.”

Jesse took a second to process that and eventually scratched his head. He caught that flicker of a smirk grace Hanzo’s features at the gesture, but the man didn’t say anything else. He was waiting for Jesse to ask for clarification.

“You...offered them.”

“Correct.”

“Your own legs.”

“Yes.”

“For your family.”

“Yes, cowboy. It is not a difficult concept,” he huffed out in feigned annoyance.

“I…I don’t get it.”

“I would not think so. If those terrible movies Genji used to watch hold any truth to them, men from Texas think honor comes with a gaudy gold star and a brawl in a back-alley saloon.”

 McCree wrinkled his nose and frowned a little. “I ain’t from Texas.”

Hanzo just waved his hand in the air as if to say, ‘it is all the same.’ Unsatisfied with this answer, McCree scooted closer again, remaining a good few inches away, to inspect the metal legs with newfound fervor. Hanzo seemed almost amused by his interest and stretched one out for him to get a better look at. It was a show of trust that was extremely rare for the man and McCree was happy to see him looking less like a panicked jackrabbit in a cage and more like a functioning human.

“My ancestors were powerful warlords and warriors,” he began, sounding a little far away. “Men and women who made great sacrifices to reign over their lands and people. According to the legend our father taught us when we were children, Genji and I are descended from what was born of a union between dragon and humanity long ago.”

“Your pa seemed to enjoy tellin’ stories,” McCree murmured. “Genji’s mentioned a bunch of ‘em already.”

“Mm. He did. They were one of the few ways he could tame Genji, though I discovered later that many of his tales held hidden meaning. I do not think of them as fondly as I once did.”

“Oh, Shimada, you don’t have to-“

Hanzo held up a hand to silence him and gave a simple nod.

“The tale goes hand-in-hand with the story of how my legs came to be what they are. If I did not wish to tell it, I would not.”

McCree nodded and scooted until his back was against the wall behind Hanzo. With a sigh, he mirrored the archer’s position and settled in to listen, sitting his Stetson back on his head.

“Long before my family came to power, _Ryūjin,_ the dragon god, controlled the sea with unmatched strength and wisdom. He blessed the people with plentiful fish, calm waters and even tides and asked for nothing in return except their devotion which was returned in spades. Through _Ryūjin’s_ divine intervention, the people were happy. All except one.

A young woman stood at the sea one day and called to the dragon god for an audience. When he came down to see the impertinent human that had dared call out to him, he was immediately stricken with how beautiful she was – a jewel hidden in the rough, surrounded by poor fishermen’s’ daughters. _Ryūjin_ came down from the heavens and split the sea in two so that she might walk to him, refusing to allow the muddied water of the sea to touch her. As she drew near, _Ryūjin_ changed into the form of a man and listened, hopelessly enamored with this mortal that had summoned him.”

Hanzo cleared his throat and furrowed his brow, trying to remember how the legend went. It had been a long, long time since he’d heard it, and even now when it came forth in his own voice, he could hear his father’s gravelly Japanese beneath.

“She demanded power of her own,” he continued, “and showed no fear when _Ryūjin_ attempted to frighten her away. She refused to back down, even when faced with godly retribution, and _Ryūjin_ found himself so impressed by her bravery that he finally acquiesced. He told the woman that, if she became his bride, she would be given seven sons that held the blood of a dragon in their veins. Seven sons to rule the world of humans. She, of course, agreed. And thus, my family was born.

Over vast generations, my family has always claimed the gift of dragons as their own. Just as the woman in the legend gained her power through the sacrifice of her freedom, we had to make sacrifices of our own to earn the blessing. With these sacrifices come great honor. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the reward.”

For a moment McCree saw something painful flash over Hanzo’s face and he had to squash down the urge to brush his hand over his cheek. But he was smart enough to know that Hanzo would only backpedal, and they’d come so far that it wasn’t worth the risk.

“I was to become the new ruler of our clan. My father, who had given up his eye for his dragon, demanded more from me than that. One leg for one dragon. Two legs for two. I would become the most powerful Shimada the world had ever seen, and I was destined to bring our family to greatness.”

He was silent again and McCree just watched him. The archer’s eyes had closed long ago, and he looked strangely placid like that. Even in the relative darkness of their boxy prison, McCree could make out the strong jaw, fair skin and expressive eyes that he wished he could lose himself in again.

“Your dad sounds like a real dick.”

Hanzo laughed before he could catch himself and McCree felt like he’d just won the damn lottery. It only lasted a second, like a sip of cool water under a parched desert sun, but Jesse gobbled it up greedily anyway. _God,_ he was gorgeous. Wait, what?

To clear his mind, McCree cleared his throat and looked away, grateful that the darkness hid the blush he was sure was there.

“So, wait. You said you have dragons? Like Genji?” He’d seen the younger Shimada’s power only once or twice in battle, but the memory was enough to give him goosebumps. The idea that that kind of power was constantly roiling under their skin, hungering for bloodshed and carnage, was more than a little intimidating.

“Genji wields one. I have two, as I said. But yes.”

“What’d he give up for his?” McCree asked curiously, immediately putting his foot in his mouth. Instead of being greeted with anger, Hanzo just smiled ruefully, looking thoroughly at ease. McCree was staring again.

“That was always a topic of great controversy. Genji acquired his because my father offered his fingers for it, hoping that the newfound power would bring his wayward son to heel. It was…obviously unsuccessful. It led to a great rift in the clan that eventually ended with…”

They both knew what it had ended with. McCree preempted the rush of sadness with a sudden hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. The action made the archer look at him, and suddenly they were both very, _very_ aware at how close they’d gotten. Drawn in on each other like moths to the flame, they were both quiet as they let their eyes drink the emotions lingering there. McCree, as usual, was the first to speak in hushed, distracted tones.

“You got more worth than you realize…” he began, swallowing hard. “You may not see it, but…but Genji does. And I do. Shit, you’re strong as hell…and smart. Quicker’n a hot knife through butter. Don’t matter much to me what you _did_ …I’m more interested in what ya _can_ do.”

Somewhere during Jesse’s rambling, they’d both leaned in towards each other. Jesse’s eyes had moved down to linger on the archer’s lips, slightly parted and wettened from a momentary flick of the tongue. Excitement zoomed up his spine when he saw that Hanzo was in a similarly distracted state, his brown eyes grazing from the cowboy’s lips to his eyes and back down again. The elevator was hot now. _Too_ hot. And McCree’s hand had slid from Hanzo’s shoulder to rest on the back of his neck. Hanzo’s hair was just as soft as he’d imagined it would be.

“…and you should _definitely_ laugh more often,” he added in barely a whisper, seconds before they came together.

Somehow, someway, their two pairs of lips had met. The kiss was chaste and soft, Jesse moving in a little bit more when Hanzo let his head tilt to give him more access. Lightning shot up his spine when Hanzo returned the attention, lost in the heady feeling of losing control. After a moment they were delving deeper into each other’s space, raising up onto their knees to press closer and chase the excitement to its source. Lips and tongue and teeth joined the fray when things got desperate, and Jesse could feel himself getting hard when Hanzo let out a groan against his mouth. It was _heaven._

There was no need for thinking. No need for expectations. Sensation took control somewhere along the line, and it was obvious that the two _needed_ something that only the other could give. Hanzo was in the process of tearing Jesse’s shirt off when a noise from above caught them both off guard.

“Ah, so who did the elevator claim as a victim this time, I wonder?” It was Torbjorn, sounding ruffled and groggy from sleep, making himself known through the emergency speaker system in the elevator.

Hanzo’s hands froze immediately. In the span of a blink he was as _far_ away from McCree as humanly possible, looking thoroughly taken aback by his own actions. He almost looked disgusted, though McCree couldn’t tell if it was because of something he’d done or not. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Agent McCree and myself are trapped in this accursed box,” he growled with a finger pressed to the speaker button, suddenly looking much more gung-ho to get out than he had seconds prior. McCree disappointedly got himself together, fixing his shirt and picking up his hat from where Hanzo had tossed it.

“Hah! I told Winston to let me upgrade the old girl. Looks like old Torbjorn was right aga-“

“Cease your incessant _blathering_ and help us” Hanzo barked.

“Well la-dee-da, Your Highness. Give me a moment and I’ll getcha up in a jiffy.”

Hanzo snorted like the disgruntled dragon he was and stared at the door like it was going to do tricks. McCree could still barely see the way his lips were puffy and wet and the telltale crescent marks in his shoulder where his nails had dug in. It was a damn good look, if he could say so, and one he really, _really_ wanted to see more often. As in _all the time_.

“Hanzo, I-“

“I _told_ you. Shimada. I am Shimada.” The reply came out hurriedly and tense, the archer bristling. McCree held up both hands in defense and moved forward to put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. When the archer whipped around to face him, McCree was leveled with one of the angriest stares he’d received from the man in a while. And that was saying something.

“You will _not_ mention what just happened,” he commanded, gritting his teeth. “Ever.”

McCree felt something inside crush into a thousand tiny shards. His expression must have said so, too, because Hanzo’s glare faltered into an almost panicked expression. They were both drawn away from each other when the elevator began to move upwards again.

With a deep breath through his nostrils, Hanzo steeled himself and looked back up at the cowboy again, scowling. Jesse, however, was looking down at the ground, his hands in his pockets, feeling thoroughly awkward and ready to get the hell out of there.

“This was a _mistake_ , McCree,” Hanzo ground out, running his hands through his hair to make sure it looked tidy once again.

“Okay,” was all McCree could get out. He watched as Hanzo jerked back a bit, almost recoiling from the lack of inane chatter coming from him. McCree felt like a kicked dog, and kicked dogs didn’t bark. They _whined_.

The doors opened to bathe them both in fluorescent light and Hanzo was out like a flash, almost knocking Torbjorn down in the process. Jesse watched as the long golden ribbon whipped around the corner and was gone.

“What an asshole,” Torbjorn commented gruffly, scratching a temple with the large wrench he grasped in his hand. His beard was braided neatly and he was wearing an old-fashioned sleeping cap.

“Yeah. He is,” Jesse agreed softly, sighing heavily and offering Torbjorn nothing more than a gentle pat on the shoulder.

Even when the door to his bunk slid closed and the bed creaked under his weight, McCree couldn’t think of anything else. In the silvery shine of moonlight, he tipped back a long swig of old whiskey by his bed and shook his head to himself. Hopefully enough to kill his almost-there erection and enough brain cells so he could sleep without drifting back to that inked skin, those fierce hands, and that sonorous voice.

_What an asshole._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quit being a fuckface, Hanzo, god
> 
> also: i made up that story about the dragon this time. Ryujin is a real dragon god from Japanese mythology though, and ultimately not my creation.
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/TZpDuvKAH5c) Ka-Boom Ka-Boom - Marilyn Manson  
> (https://youtu.be/J6Zrw1KxwPE) The Undertaker (Renholder Remix) - Puscifer  
> (https://youtu.be/eNXicY_Q_34) Nabbed - Yoshida Brothers  
> (https://youtu.be/44xcpmqy2hw) Close - Nick Jonas ft. Tov Lo
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	10. Monster

By dawn, Hanzo had secluded himself on the roof of the base. Unable to fully relax, he’d taken to crouching on the balls of his feet, pressing his weight into the metal soles for balance. In the distance, amidst the crashing of waves, he could hear those familiar shore birds cawing over their nests. The sun had just barely begun to crest the cliffside, bathing the sky in hues of pink and orange. The calm _should_ have been able to permeate his being like it always did, but this time it only seemed to point out how frazzled he really was. His chest was burning – that high-sodium diet he’d fallen into. Yeah, that _had_ to be it.

He was absent-mindedly chewing on the end of a lit, hand-rolled cigarette – an admittedly disgusting habit that he indulged in once in a blue moon. The scent of tobacco provided something comforting when he needed it most, and _man_ did he need it now.

What the hell had he been thinking?

His mind searched fruitlessly for answers but ultimately came up empty-handed. He must have just been overwhelmed, he reasoned with himself, so unused to basic human contact that he’d jumped at the chance to haul it in closer. It was a fluke; a stupid mistake that he cursed himself over and over for making. He’d been so _careful_. Avoided mealtimes, stayed away from idle conversation. There were even a few members on base that he was sure had _no_ idea he even lived amongst them.

But then there was that _fucking_ cowboy.

Instantly the flash of a big dopey grin fell into place behind his eyes and Hanzo growled and blew smoke through his nostrils. Now when he looked out at the sky and saw the red tinge gracing the horizon, all he could think of was the stupid poncho the man clung to like a security blanket. No, not a poncho – a _serape_. He’d corrected Hanzo on it a few times, grumpily tugging at its frayed edges with his metal hand. Fondness bloomed in the archer’s chest at the unbidden memory and he had to fiercely tamp down on the urge to jam his cigarette into his thigh in absolute and utter frustration.

How could he have let this happen? Hanzo had planned on using the man as a simple distraction to wait out the house arrest he was under. He could become proficient in a weapon unfamiliar to him, regain his strength, and bolt back out into the world to continue his lifelong task. But then…that _fucking cowboy-_

_“Ah, it’s good to know that I can still manage to predict where you will seek asylum after all these years.”_

It was Genji, managing to sneak up on him as always. Hanzo twitched a little and jerked around to face him, but only grunted deeply in answer. The cyborg was stalking across the rooftop silently, hands clasped behind his back. As loathe as he was to admit it, the familiarity of the calm Japanese that he spoke made Hanzo feel just a little bit better. _Just_ a little bit.

He settled in beside Hanzo and crossed his legs, facing the sunrise in serene silence. The only sounds that filled the chasm of quiet between them was the flapping of their ribbons against the ocean wind and the occasional ambient sound of birds or water. Offhandedly, Hanzo wondered if Genji had started to call this place home. It was so different from Hanamura – there were no pink trees, no cobblestone streets. There were no lanterns or bamboo gardens or curved _pagoda_ to fill the canopy above. It was so… _different_. Then again, Genji was different. He’d _made_ him different.

 _“You are upset.”_ It wasn’t a question. When Hanzo let his eyes flick over to the man beside him, he could see that faceplate turned to look at him, waiting for some sort of confirmation. Hanzo could only shrug his shoulders and blow out a plume of tobacco smoke. Genji followed the cloud of it as it flew out and dissipated in front of them.

 _“That is the brand father always used.”_ Another statement, not a question, and Hanzo nodded solemnly, reaching inside his _kyudo-gi_ to retrieve a small pouch and some rolling papers. They were easier to keep intact while he was on the move. He’d learned his lesson after having crushed one too many cardboard packs during scuffles.

 _“What do you want, Genji?”_ he asked finally, putting the cigarette out beside him by crushing the cherry against the concrete.

 _“I would like to know what has upset you so,”_ he said calmly, letting his arms rest over his knees. His easy demeanor made Hanzo irrationally agitated.

_“It is none of your concern.”_

Genji seemed to deflate a little and turned back to the sunrise. Knowing his brother as well as he did despite their ten years apart, he knew that that would not be the end of the conversation. He’d always resembled his nickname in that respect, chirping and bouncing around his shoulders like a sparrow until the truth was ultimately revealed.

 _“We depart on a mission to America tomorrow,”_ he said, changing the subject. Hanzo nodded, drawing Genji’s gaze again. Quizzically, Genji cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. _“You seem as if you knew that already. Did McCree inform you?”_

Hanzo bristled and let his lip curl a little at the mention of _him._

_“No. I listened to your meeting from the hallway while you were gathered. I am perfectly capable of acquiring my own information.”_

Genji laughed then, a light tittering that sounded so like the _old_ Genji that Hanzo had to turn his face away.

_“Brother, when did you become so sneaky? I seem to recall you favoring the ‘barge in and demand answers’ approach.”_

_“It would seem that we have both changed greatly since our last encounter, then.”_

The jab stung both parties like thorns. Genji sighed heavily, half-expecting it, and shook his head. The familiar ache of regret filled Hanzo’s chest to replace the burn he’d felt earlier, and the urge to fold in on himself and retreat back into darkness goaded him to stand.

That was when Genji saw the bag.

There was a pause as understanding set in, but Hanzo nearly flinched when Genji snapped his gaze from the object to Hanzo and then back again.

 _“…you are leaving?”_ Finally, an actual question, though the archer looked and felt almost too ashamed to answer. Like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Daring another look, he met Genji’s gaze to watch as the unspoken answer settled there, and then as the faceplate turned back out to the ocean.

 _“I thought Winston said you couldn’t leave,”_ he finally said, sounding a lot demurer than he had moments prior.

 _“Your…_ Winston _is no master to me. I go where I please_ , _”_ came the gruff answer, the archer bending at the waist to retrieve the satchel. It was true, to some extent. Hanzo had _allowed_ the scientist to hold jurisdiction over him, but ultimately it had been his decision to stay this long. So why did it feel like he was abandoning something important?

“ _So you plan on skulking away like a dog while we are across the sea?”_ That had far more bite in it than Hanzo was used to hearing from his little brother. Normally the tone would have had him launching across the space to snarl at his impudence, but for some reason this time it had the opposite effect. Hanzo let out a shaky sigh and turned away, no longer interested in entertaining his brother’s gaze.

The archer felt weary. The kind of weariness that made him long for a full bottle of sake and a bed to climb into. The kind that made him want to curl up on himself and sink into dreamless sleep. The kind that made him want to be somewhere – _anywhere_ other than that rooftop at that moment.

 _“There is work to be done, Genji. I have been away for too long already on my quest for answers. Now that I have them…”_ He ran exasperated fingers over the back of his neck to struggle for words, finally settling on the first thing that came to mind. _“I must regain my honor. I am an instrument whose only usefulness comes from striving to complete the task I have been given.”_

 _“That is_ father _speaking,”_ Genji almost spat out, _“not you. And we both know it.”_

The cyborg had rounded on him from his cross-legged position and was facing him with what Hanzo could only assume was an angry stare. There was uneasy silence again, Hanzo shifting the bag of items over his shoulder uncomfortably.

 _“…what would you have me do, Genji?”_ Hanzo asked softly, his voice and expression becoming that of someone who was just…lost. Genji sat up a little, tilting his head, and then gracefully unfolded himself to stand. Hanzo had a comforting hand on his shoulder before he could blink.

_“Join us. Join Overwatch.”_

It was said without hesitation, like the answers to all of Hanzo’s problems could be solved with this one simple action. Like it was the most obvious choice in the world. Like Hanzo had been silly to even ask such a question in the first place when salvation was so close at hand. Now it was Hanzo’s turn to snap, shrugging Genji’s hand off to take a few steps back.  

 _“I cannot,”_ he croaked, shaking his head. Genji took a step to follow him with a hand extended to calm him, but did not move further.

 _“You are_ needed _here, Brother._ We _need you._ _There is so much yet to be done and so many people we must help. If honor is what you seek, seek it with us. Together.”_

 _“You need a monster?!”_ Hanzo roared suddenly, hands clenching into fists. Genji, much to his credit, did not flinch or back away, but instead let his hand slowly fall to his side. Hanzo was shaking with anger at this point, voice echoing against the high canyon walls with force.

 _“You wish to travel side by side with the man who destroyed everything you once were? Who spends his last remaining days ripping and tearing and clawing at vermin like a rabid dog?! How_ **dare** _you act as if I am fit for this place! How dare you behave as if it is all so easily changed! You do not_ need _me,_ Brother. _You need to be protected_ from _me.”_

Genji was quiet for a spell, giving Hanzo time to catch his breath. The older Shimada, fighting the urge to jump from the roof and hide after his outburst, found himself curious for Genji’s reaction. He watched him with a dark glare and heaving chest, almost ready to cry out again for something. _Anything._ His brother’s silence was worse than his blade at his throat.

Hanzo was completely thrown off when Genji _did_ speak. His voice, modified by the artificial effect of his plate, came out as barely above a whisper.

_“Do you remember what mother used to tell us when we were feeling lost?”_

It was a question Hanzo had definitely not been expecting and his face said as much. Left without a response, he slowly shook his head. Genji seemed to smile sadly but continued anyway.

_“I would go to her when clan dealings left me feeling hopeless. When you were busy settling in to your future life. I felt so small and out of place there sometimes, but she always knew just what to say to quell my fears._

_‘Genji, my love, the path you see before you is not one of stone, but of water. One long river, stretching until the end of time itself. While it may seem like its current is strong and unbreakable, the shores of this great river are full of twists and turns. Some choose to follow its flow, while others…’”_ Hanzo could picture his mother playfully ruffling a small Genji’s hair affectionately then, “’… _rail against it, breaking through that pull like a great boulder. It is that boulder that decides the course of that long river, not the fish that glide along with it.’”_

Genji met Hanzo’s eyes then. After a moment of emotional quiet, he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his older brother’s broad shoulders, pulling him close. Hanzo was too shocked and overcome to reciprocate, but allowed his chin to rest on Genjis shoulder.

 _“Hanzo, change_ is _possible, despite how far down the path you have floated…,_ ” Genji murmured softly. With a telltale hiss, his free hand had removed the faceplate that separated them, allowing the scarred visage of the Sparrow to smile. He stepped back and let the corners of his eyes crinkle. _“…but it will only come when you look down that river and discover that you are strong enough to alter its course. That you always have been.”_

Genji stepped back a bit more and clipped his visor back into place with one hand.

_“Whatever path you choose, I will respect your decision.”_

He offered a slight bow to the stunned archer and slipped from the roof, the door clicking into place behind him.

By the time the sun had finally risen over Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Hanzo and his bag were gone.

 

* * *

 

 

McCree had been uncharacteristically quiet all the way up until it was time for the mission taskforce to move out. Even when the selected agents had been trying on their Talon disguises, which would have gotten at least a few choice depreciative quips from him, he’d been reserved. Torbjorn had chalked it up to having had to spend an hour trapped in a confined space with ‘the asshole’ the night before whenever anyone had asked.

“Who’s ‘the asshole’?” Hana asked curiously, popping a big bubble with her chewing gum while she buffed out a spot on her MEKA.

“Language,” Angela scolded, slipping her arm into one of the black armored suits the Talon agents wore. She turned around and admired the craftsmanship, kicking the toes of her big combat boots into the ground. Hana just rolled her eyes and went back to buffing with a thick white cloth.

“Torbjorn said it,” she grumbled under her breath.

“It’s that damn archer what destroyed my babies!” the engineer supplied from across the hangar, wrench in hand.

“Torbie, you have _got_ to let that go,” Fareeha said with an amused laugh, moving to help Angela adjust her facemask. The things were horridly uncomfortable and made breathing a chore. If they hadn’t been efficient in filtering out toxins and smoke, there honestly wouldn’t have been any reasonable excuse to wear them. Except as disguises, of course. Torbjorn just muttered something unintelligible under his breath and went back to twisting the wrench into the small metal box he was tinkering with.

“ _Waaaait_ wait wait wait. Wait,” Lucio finally broke in, punctuating his words by slicing the air in front of him in a series of karate chops. “…who are we talking about?”

“Hanzo,” Fareeha answered, tightening the strap of Angela’s mask with a satisfied click of the tongue. She smiled when Angela turned to face her, a smile of her own showing in the way her eyes crinkled up at the corners.

“Uh, who the heck is Hanzo?”

“Genji’s brother.”

“Genji has a brother?”

Fareeha snickered and shook her head, her hair confined to a ponytail and gold-free. They’d have to pass off as Talon agents, so any conspicuous characteristics had to be removed and hidden behind black armor and thick plastic. “Let’s just say he’s not the most sociable guy in the world. It’s really not a surprise that you haven’t met him.”

“So wait,” Lucio said again, cutting off the conversation with another karate chop. “There’s been another dude – Genji’s _brother_ – living here this _entire_ time? What is he…some kinda Phantom of the Opera? Dude got half his face burned off or something?”

“Hah! A classic!” Reinhardt bellowed from _somewhere_ in the building. It was almost expected that he’d chime in now. Like a laugh track after a bad joke on a sitcom.

“Sounds creepy,” Hana smirked.

“I can assure you, his face is fully intact,” Angela responded after unclipping her mask. “If I may be honest, you should probably consider yourselves lucky that he has not made an appearance. There _is_ a reason that Torbjorn has given him such a nickname.”

Fareeha raised a brow at the other woman in surprise. Normally the good doctor was the one to always see the positive side of things. The coarse way she spoke about Hanzo was dreadfully out of character. Angela just bumped her hip playfully and all was immediately forgiven.

“All right, Agents. Here is your agenda:”

As if on cue, there was Winston with his ever-present tablet out in front of him. Everyone quietly settled in around him or leaned nearby to listen.

“Based on Athena’s projections of their current transport schedule, the target truck will arrive at Point A at 0900. That’s nine miles southwest of the city proper, near the Dearborn area. Team Alpha, you’ll be touching down and disembarking from the airport at 0800, giving you an hour to commandeer ground transport, travel to the intercept location, change and take command of the target truck. It’s only fifteen minutes or so from the airport to Point A, so unless you run into some major hang-ups, it should be plenty of time. You’ll just have to keep a low profile and make sure whatever you do to get rid of the former occupants doesn’t raise suspicion. Athena will scan for com systems and let you know if there’s anything you need to knock out.

From there, Team Alpha will move into the city proper. The omnium is located near Midtown, in the heart of the city, and from what we can tell there are Talon checkpoints all the way along the route you’ll be taking. We’ve managed to scrape together some IDs for you, but they won’t hold up under close scrutiny so _stay in character._ Try not to engage unless you really have to. Remember: most of these men and women will be reconditioned. They won’t let you guys pass if you flirt or joke with them. That means _you_ , McCree.”

He jabbed his stylus in the man’s direction. McCree, who had changed out of his Talon getup and back into his flannel and jeans, just shrugged and smirked faintly from where he was leaning against the transport.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

 Winston sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Once you get passed the checkpoints, the guard change is scheduled to happen at 10 o’clock sharp. You’ll need to be at Point B by then to relinquish the vehicle and take your places. Point B is the warehouse directly beneath the omnium on the lower east side, as shown on your maps.”

He tapped the back of the stylus against the tablet and several of the agents turned their attention down to it before nodding in understanding. For most of them, this wasn’t their first rodeo.

“Team Beta, that’s Genji and Lucio, you’ll stay at our designated safehouse a few blocks outside of the Talon base. Don’t ask how we managed to secure it because at this point I’m not even sure myself and I’m not going to ask. Hana did it. Just stay vigilant, keep your coms open and be prepared to gun it into the base.”

“Oh, and your names for check-in are Bonnie and Clyde,” Hana piped in, grinning mischievously. That hotel’s flimsy security system had been a piece of cake. Winking an eye and making a gun with her finger at Lucio, she bent her thumb and shot him with an imaginary bullet.

“You’re Bonnie.”

Lucio scoffed. “Man, that’s so not cool. It’s because of the hair, isn’t it? Don’t diss on my hair, girl.”

“ _As I was saying_ -“ Winston interrupted, a deadpan expression leveled on them over his tablet, “once, and _if_ , all goes according to plan, Team Alpha’s job is to map out the base and try to gain intel on whatever it is Talon is up to. We are _not_ looking for a firefight, here. Any problems you guys run into are strictly catch and release unless it’s _absolutely_ necessary. If you feel at all compromised, you pull out. It’s that simple.”

Winston put down the tablet and looked to each of them expectantly, lips forming a tight line. When none of them commented, he continued with his diatribe.

“As always, Athena and I will be available to offer any assistance we can through your coms. Make sure your tracking chips are functional too. If we can’t find you, we can’t help you…any questions?”

“…do I _have_ to be Bonnie?” Lucio drawled, causing the tension to immediately let up. Even Winston cracked a toothy smile. The only one who didn’t give in to chuckling at the joke was McCree, who seemed to be focused on the entryway leading up to the dorms. Winston took note of it silently but didn’t call it out.

“All right then. Overwatch!” he boomed, offering a thumb up, “It’s time to show them what we’re made of. Let’s save the world.”  

“…well, _Detroit._ But close.” Hana leaned down to mutter into Lucio’s ear behind a hand, earning a snorty little laugh.

 Behind the group, McCree let out a little sigh and scuffed his boot into the ground. For some reason, when surrounded by all this black and chrome, the only colors he longed to look at seemed too far out of his reach.

Cerulean blue and gold. He couldn’t get them out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dang. mission time.
> 
> as always, thanks to everyone who has stuck with this little project so far. it brings me a lot of joy to get your comments and see your kudos. <3
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/IITn9XHXT8k) Tsuki no Shizuku - Koto-Note  
> (https://youtu.be/z6HWZwv658M) Sober II (Melodrama) - Lorde  
> (https://youtu.be/NGGQRJkNutA) Cherry Bomb - The Runaways  
> (https://youtu.be/bKFhS0cQLE8) Survival - Muse
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	11. The First Mission (Part One)

Despite his thorough attention to detail _and_ the fact that he’d gone over protocol with the agents until he was blue in the face, this Detroit mission was shaping up to be a monumental headache for Winston.

The MV-261 Orca, having been prepped and stocked days in advance, did not leave the hangar until 18 minutes _after_ its scheduled departure time. Winston, always taking the part of the henpecking mother, had prodded and downright nagged his agents to prepare days ahead– ‘ _look over your maps and memorize your escape routes_ ,’ _‘recharge, calibrate, and reload your artillery and check for malfunctions,’ ‘gather your disguises and equipment’,_ and _‘recalibrate your tracking chips and make sure your coms are working’_. The list went on and on, always responded to with a sarcastic ‘yes, dad’ or ‘I’m almost 40, Winston, damn!’

But, of course, leave it to the new team of Overwatch to always throw a wrench in the works.

It had started simply enough. Upon prepping the Orca for launch, Lena (or _Tracer_ since they were now going by code names) had noted some odd readings from one of the turbines. Annoying, but manageable considering she’d picked it up a half an hour ahead of schedule. The next hindrance was caused, surprisingly, by Genji of all people. The cyborg, who had always been known for being enthusiastically punctual, did not come down from the dormitory area until five minutes _after_ they were scheduled to leave. Winston, however, had been forced to rein in his irritation when Genji uncharacteristically _slammed_ his fist into the hangar wall hard enough to leave a dent before climbing the ramp onto the transport.

…some things were best left unsaid.

The real kicker came when a frustrated growl echoed down the hall and a disheveled cowboy poked his head around the corner. He still had a toothbrush sticking out of his scruffy face, foam dripping down his beard, and was wailing about having misplaced something. Something important.

His belt buckle. McCree had lost his damn _belt buckle_ and refused to leave without it.

Ignoring the fact that he wasn’t even going to be _wearing_ the gaudy thing during this mission, he was adamant, arguing that it was ‘good luck’ and that ‘he hadn’t run a mission without it since he was knee-high to a grasshopper’, whatever that meant. After a few well-thrown puppy eyes at Mercy and Pharah, the entire crew minus Genji was scouring McCree’s wrecked dorm room. Checking under the bed, tossing his piled laundry.

Eventually, a bubbly British accent filled the room with a chipper ‘I found it!’ All eyes turned in curiosity to see where the trinket had been hiding before those _same_ eyes turned to fix McCree with an accusing glare.

It had been hanging from a _belt_ that was still attached to a pair of McCree’s discarded jeans, draped over the back of a chair. Right next to the door.

The cowboy somehow managed to blush all the way up to the tips of his ears, cast a bashful smile, and shove the offending object into his boot all in the same motion. Grumbling about the waste of their time and how it was too damn _early_ for this shit, the group marched back out with all the gusto of a funeral procession. A few moments later, Pharah popped back into the room with a roll of her eyes to snag the cowboy’s Stetson. Better safe than sorry.

A blast of fire from the engines later and they were off.

It was close to a 12-hour flight via commercial aircraft. Thanks to the high-speed velocity of the Orca, the time was cut nearly in half, which the entire crew was thankful for. Most had taken up their respective spots amongst the cabin to either lightly snooze or chat. McCree was the former, having taken up residence on a bench seat with his feet kicked out near Genji, who was sharpening his _wakizashi_ forcefully. Having decided that he could get away with it for now, the cowboy had tipped his hat over his eyes. It was only after he heard Genji _barely_ mutter something that sounded like a Japanese curse under his breath that he tipped the brim back to eye him blearily.

“Give that thing a rest, Genj. It ain’t gettin’ any sharper.”

The Sparrow, contemplating his words briefly, looked down at the weapon with a heavy sigh and sheathed it. He still seemed less-than-inclined to speak, folding his arms and turning his head to the floor -  a pose McCree had seen Hanzo sport on more than one occasion.

He pictured the older Shimada sitting there suddenly instead, donned in his gold and blues, glaring at him petulantly for apparently no reason at all. Angry at the world but still willing to share his time with a silly cowboy and tell him even sillier facts about himself. It made Jesse break out into a soft smile before he caught himself. When had he grown so fond of things that reminded him of Hanzo?

“What’s gotcha so bent out of shape, partner?” he finally asked Genji, unwilling to follow _that_ particular train of thought to its inevitable end. _Get ahold of yourself, McCree._

Mercifully, Genji did not mention the stupid smile McCree had just wiped away from his features though he was sure to have seen it. Instead, he shook his head slowly and brought a hand up to rest at the back of his neck. Much more gruffly than McCree was used to hearing from the other man, Genji finally muttered in response.

“Hanzo is gone.”

Well, so much for not thinking about him.

It took a second for the gunslinger to process the words. Hanzo was…gone? Gone where? He’d only just seen him a few hours ago, down in the-

The _elevator_. Where he’d kissed him. _Fuck._

He should have expected him to react this way. After the archer had freaked out so emphatically and run off, McCree really should have followed him. Chased him down to talk things out. Instead, he’d left Hanzo to his own devices, thinking that time would soothe his aggression. Good job, McCree.

“I…I don’t understand,” he said articulately, trying and failing to school his tone of voice into something other than disappointment.

“We had an…argument, of sorts,” Genji explained. “He was upset, though over what…I do not know. He wanted to leave…I attempted to stop him, but. My words were apparently not enough to persuade him otherwise. When I went to his room to let him know of our departure, it was empty.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Genj,” McCree breathed, not really knowing what to say.

Genji just waved it off – _that_ was more like the one they all knew. Always eager and willing to blow off his own inner turmoil to spare someone else the grief of listening to him. Only the mysterious master from Nepal was privy to unabashed grief from the younger Shimada, it seemed.

“It…it is fine. It is I who should apologize for behaving so irrationally,” he murmured, flexing his fist in remembrance of that hard punch to the wall. “I had just been hoping for a more… _positive_ outcome. Though, knowing Hanzo, the hope was probably misguided from the beginning.”

“You sure he ain’t just…runnin’ around on a cliff somewhere? Glarin’ at rocks and shootin’ seagulls?”

“I am afraid there was a bit more finality to his disappearance this time. Men like Hanzo are attentive to detail, and upon seeing his room, there is no doubt that he has left Gibraltar entirely.”

“Well, tell y’what. When we get back from this spy detail, you an’ me will go and hunt his sorry ass down.” McCree offered an attempt at a jovial smile and tipped his hat. He wouldn’t tell Genji that he had his own reasons for wanting to lasso the archer down.

Resignedly, Genji let his shoulders droop, McCree’s smile following suit.

“I told him that I would respect his decision, no matter what my feelings were. To that I will still hold true.” When McCree nodded dumbly, having no words to give for once, Genji tilted his head in the universal sign that he was smiling.

“Some people just need more time than others to find their place on the river.”

McCree didn’t ask what he meant. With an uneasy smile and another tip of the hat, he resumed his position with the Stetson over his eyes to let the conversation drop. Instead of dozing, however, he glared into the brim like his gaze would set it on fire. Fucking Hanzo. _What an asshole._

 

* * *

 

 

Thanks to some quick maneuvering and a perpetually positive attitude, Tracer managed to land the Orca on the farthest point of the airfield right on schedule. Scans had indicated that, while there was minor Talon interference present there, it was few and far between. Sporadic scouting parties. Low-end grunts kept focused with busy-work.

Athena was kind enough to conceal the aircraft’s signal behind that of a larger cargo vessel that had touched down at the same time. From their position, it was easy enough to hide amidst some large shipping containers parked at the far end of a runway. No one from the tower noticed it touch down from the opposite direction of the runway.

D.Va had taken the liberty of also providing a nice little distraction in the form of some harmless malware that blinked a big pink bunny hopping across the tower’s computer screens. All with a mischievous smile and a smack of her gum. The kid was a pepper.

After some terse instructions and a few nods, they split into Team Alpha and Team Beta. Team Alpha, made up of Mercy, Tracer, Pharah, D.Va and McCree, had decided to bag half of their Talon disguises for now in favor of sporting just their combat boots and military-grade black pants. Pharah had chosen a blue tank top for convenience’s sake, McCree his typical flannel sans the belt buckle and hat, Tracer a gray sweatshirt, D.Va a pink t-shirt with a cartoon butterfly on it, and Mercy a plain white shirt and black rimmed glasses. The rest of their outfits were safely folded inside the black duffel bags they carried, along with their weapons and ammunition. Noting the bomb dogs and guards armed with machine guns on the other side of the barrier, all four were grateful to not have to go through security.

Both teams met up again at the front drop-off area, though they did not spare a glance at each other. Genji was not present, having told the group that his appearance would be far too conspicuous to continue with them and deciding to find his own way. The other five had all apparently had the same idea, hailing cabs a mere twenty feet from each other.

Team Alpha had to slip their driver $50 to keep him from handling their bags or asking questions, though he probably wouldn’t have cared either way provided they tipped him. Lucio had been luckier – _his_ driver was from Brazil from the sounds of things. He hadn’t needed to bribe him at all. Although he could in no way speak Portuguese, McCree could pick up that the man was simply _gushing_ over the celebrity getting into his cab. Of course, Lucio was eating it up, bashfully smiling and signing almost every little thing the guy could get his hands on with a thick black marker. Everyone else just rolled their eyes simultaneously before getting into their own.

From there, things went smoothly. Lucio’s cab had diverted somewhere on the highway on its way to the safehouse, but Winston and Athena’s constant buzzing in their ears through the coms told everyone all was well. McCree slipped their driver a small fortune to drop them off a block away from Point A in Dearborn with a wink and a nod. The driver just grumbled at him, pocketed the money and zoomed off, the fuzzy dice hanging from his rearview mirror waving to and fro.

A secluded back alley was good enough to don the rest of their disguises. McCree and Pharah needed a bit more time than the rest to shove their hair into the sleek domed helmets, but soon they were all breezing through the partially dilapidated buildings, guns in tow.

“These masks are fuckin’ stupid,” McCree groused into his com, sounding remarkably like he was speaking into a tin can. “An’ why the _fuck_ do they need these red lenses in the helmet? I can’t see a gotdang thing.”

 _“What part of ‘stay in character’ did you not_ get _, McCree?”_ was Winston’s grumbled reply, resulting in a grunt from the cowboy. But, for once, he took the hint and shut his trap.

“There,” Mercy whispered, nodding her chin forwards. “At the corner.”

The team they were supposed to be replacing waited patiently in the parking lot of a nearby abandoned gas station. There wasn’t any conversation coming from them, or if there was it was too hard to discern. Regardless, whether or not they were talking wasn’t the problem. The _problem_ was that there were _six_ operatives standing there, not five.

“ _Shit,”_ McCree hissed under his breath. “They’re bound to know somethin’s goin’ on when they come to pick us up and we’re a man short.”

“What are we gonna do?” D.Va’s voice asked, her hands tightly holding her oversized gun to her chest.

 _“Easy, everyone, easy. I thought this might happen,”_ Winston said calmly in their ears. _“We had no way of knowing how many agents they were coming to get – it fluctuates from four to six at random, so we had to guess. Remember those ID badges I gave you? I slipped in a false reassignment declaration just in case you had to make up an excuse for someone missing. Looks like the real deal, but just like the badges, that serial number won’t hold up if they run it. Show it to them but don’t give them the opportunity to think about it.”_

They all breathed a sigh of relief. Good ol’ Winston. For once they were all glad he was there to micromanage.

The group of five split into two and approached the group from opposite sides. Whether it was because they were simply unsuspecting or because of a side-effect of their reconditioning, the six agents were woefully unprepared for the onslaught. A brief scuffle and two flashbangs later, five agents were dragging six bodies into the unlocked, dingy back bathroom of the gas station. Back on schedule.

At 0900, all five of the fake Talon agents were ready and waiting for their truck. And, just as Winston had said, it pulled up to the rendezvous point and parked, a fierce black square against the sea of gray glass and beige brick that was the city behind it. The driver remained seated, eyes facing ahead, while the agent riding shotgun and the six in the back exited. With the only sound being the stomping of boots as they trudged away to their unknown destination, the one who had been passenger stepped up to McCree and held out his hand. He wanted their IDs.

In one smooth motion, the cowboy slipped the small black folder out of his front pocket to the other. There was a tense moment when he scanned each of their masked faces and eyed the fake forms Winston had provided, but it fell flat when he folded everything back up and handed it back. McCree was, however, put back on edge when the agent’s gaze lingered on his cloth-covered arm as it reached to retrieve the folder. All of the other agents had their arms bared from their wrists to their upper arms. With his prosthetic, McCree had been forced to put on a black long-sleeve shirt beneath the uniform to hide it.

The agent’s red gaze then slid to the two tinier members of their group, as if suddenly contemplating their odd heights and builds. Mercy and Pharah could easily play the parts of female agents – D.Va and Tracer were _scrawny_ by comparison.

They were screwed.

For the third or fourth time that day, they all breathed a sigh of relief when the agent said nothing and turned to return to the truck. McCree gave one side glance to the women at his side before climbing up into the truck and they were off towards Midtown.

 _“We’re going to have to maintain radio silence from here on out unless there is an emergency,_ ” Winston said quickly. _“Remember what I said – get in, look around, get out. Don’t engage unless you have to. Abort immediately if you think you’ve been compromised…”_ And then, after a sigh, “ _Good luck, agents.”_

The short trip from there was comprised of anxious silence, broken only when the truck hit an occasional pothole.

Although they couldn’t see it, they knew at once when they’d entered the prohibited space near the omnium that Talon had taken residence in. The back flaps of the truck had been pinned open to allow them to see out, where they witnessed organized troops of Talon agents parting and then coming together like the Red Sea behind. The sound of heavy boots against concrete and distant bellowing voices mingled with the sound of the creaking metal gate closing them in.

A few minutes later, the truck turned and then came to a stop again. The back of the truck was let down to let the five exit, and they were all at once surrounded by the smell of gunpowder, hot plastic, and sweat. Even the masks they wore couldn’t filter out the amalgamation of scents that _was_ the Talon base, looking more like a boot camp than a terrorist organization. The sheer precision of it all was nerve wracking.

The omnium itself stretched into the sky a short distance away, gargantuan and imposing. The wide metal shaft that made up its middle cut into the clouds like some sort of alien church steeple. It would have been awe-inspiring if it wasn’t for the black ants of Talon scurrying around it _and_ if it didn’t stand as a makeshift reminder of the cataclysmic Crisis. Awe could wait. They had a mission to accomplish.

 D.Va was the first to move. She was jumpy being so far away from her MEKA and it showed. Her head darted around like a bird while she took in her surroundings and tightened up on her gun. Pharah stilled her by pressing the butt of her gun into her shoulder in lieu of her hand. The girl gave a curt nod of understanding and squared her shoulders. They were all eager to get what they came for and get the hell out of there. They just couldn’t let it blow their cover. Now it was time for protocol.

As it always did in these situations, McCree’s mind went back to Blackwatch. Reyes barking orders in his ear, dark eyes narrowed on their objective with single-minded scrutiny. Men on either side of him willing to _die_ and follow him into hell if he asked them to. Smoke, fire and blood. It took him back to the days before. When everything was simple. Messy, but simple. Follow orders, do your job, get a fucking whiskey and repeat the process. The familiarity of it took him someplace far away and urged his boots to move. Knowing better than to question McCree at a time like this, Mercy held back the three women with her as they went to follow. A minute shake of the head was all they received. They would investigate elsewhere.

Like clockwork, McCree fell in with a passing group of agents as they moved in formation across the base in two even lines. None of them seemed to notice the extra passenger in their ranks. In fact, none of the men and women on the base seemed to notice much of _anything_ out of the ordinary at all. They moved like robots, eyes forward, guns at the ready. Slowly but surely, McCree was beginning to feel a bit more confident with how well this was going. Maybe they had less to worry about than Winston had thought.

What he _didn’t_ notice were the three sets of eyes that had followed him since he’d gotten off the truck.

All three came from above.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take long for him to hit pay dirt.

As he neared the omnium, things started to look a lot less like a military base and a whole hell of a lot more like a horror film.

He could only see bits and pieces as he passed by the windows and open doors, but his stomach churned with every glance. Bodies were laid out on stretchers – omnics and humans. Alive, but some unconscious, some in pain. Most clipped together with countless wires and IVs, faceless men and women in lab coats jotting down notes on clipboards with precision. Everything was _clean_ , everything was _sterile_ , but it still made McCree sick to his stomach.

How had they gotten these people here? And more importantly, how had they managed to smuggle so many omnics together without causing suspicion? As cold as it sounded, humans disappeared all the time. If you played if off right, you could blame it on anything – bus accident, plane crash. Something unexpected; something out of control. Fake the deaths, provide false evidence. Hell, you didn’t even need to produce _bodies_ to convince people of death. McCree knew _that_ one firsthand.

But omnics? The whole _world_ was watching each and every one of them like a hawk. Their whereabouts were monitored, their places of residence raided on a regular basis just to keep the status quo. They were tagged, hunted, persecuted – making _them_ just disappear was no easy feat. Unless…

Unless you had the means to manufacture them before they _got_ tagged.

McCree’s wide, horrified eyes sought out the omnium as it finally clicked. They were _using_ the _omnium_ to make their test subjects. It didn’t even need to be reactivated. All the materials were right there. With Talon’s technological resources and ability? They could make omnics by the thousands, fresh and clean and new, and use them for whatever purpose they wanted.

He didn’t notice when he’d finally stopped walking in formation with the others. Before he knew it, he was stepping into one of the warehouses, eyes on the pale body of a young girl laid out on a slab like a piece of meat for the butcher. Her eyes were open and trained to the ceiling, her lips parted. When a tall man in a lab coat neared her throat with a syringe of clear liquid, McCree must have made a noise.

The man’s head snapped up, goggles reflecting the McCree in his black Talon outfit. Behind him, up and to the left, was the faint reflection of something shiny on the rooftop.

A sniper. Amelie LaCroix. _Widowmaker._

McCree ducked just in time to see the heavy bullet careening into a table of metal scalpels, the warehouse erupting into chaos. He rolled, ducked, pressed his back to the wall behind him and immediately made for his com. He’d been stupid. So, so stupid.

“Sniper! Rooftop facing warehouse…warehouse 10B!” he barked, turning his head just enough to see the designation number printed in big yellow font to his left.

 _“McCree! Status! Are you injured? What is your location?”_ Mercy’s voice poured through the com like water, tinged with concern and panic. Unlike Winston, they didn’t have access to his tracking chip. Like an idiot, he’d wandered off. _Stupid, stupid._

“Nah, bitch missed me. Either I’m gettin’ faster or she’s slowin’ down cuz she had me lined up, too. _Fuck_. She’s got me pinned.”

 _“I’m sending Genji and Lucio to you guys now,”_ Winston said, his words punctuated by the sound of plastic buttons being mashed in the background.

 _“Hold on, guys! Help is on the way! ETA five minutes!”_ Lucio’s energetic voice was slightly out of breath.

 _“McCree, can you get a visual?”_ Pharah this time. _“They’ve thrown the alarm and the whole base is on alert. You gotta move or they’re gonna be on you-“_

“Damn it, I can’t _move._ LaCroix’s got her sights right-“

 He was cut off by the sound of twin clicks.

Out of nowhere, there he was. And McCree suddenly couldn’t _breathe_.

The figure was swathed in black, wisps of foul decay floating as his feet beneath where his guns were trained. Black holes for eyes swallowed the light of the room from where they cut into the white, bird-like mask. When his head turned to take McCree into consideration, the gunslinger felt his heart wrench with the motion. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, the dark hood bending and twisting like a second skin over his neck. He took a step forward. Then another. Waiting. Contemplating. _Expecting._

“When did you get this _terrible,_ kid? Overwatch must have made you _soft._ ”

It laughed a rasping sound, like sand paper against brick. McCree fumbled, scraped his way up the wall until he was standing. The creature stared him down and raised the clawed hands holding his guns – double shotguns. Familiar double shotguns. McCree’s hand hovered over the spot where Peacemaker was shoved into his waistline at his back. _Focus. Breathe._

“Is this all that _monkey_ could scrape together? You must be joking.”

Another step forward, barrels trained to McCree’s forehead.

“I’m going to kill you _all._ ”

A bullet snapped the monster’s head back with a loud crack, the barrel of McCree’s Peacemaker still smoking. The Reaper hissed and wheezed with the recoil, stumbling backwards. McCree was on the move. Fight or flight.

Moving out into the open was suicide – Widowmaker and her deadly aim would pick him off like fish in a barrel. He had no choice but to move further into the warehouse, tearing down electrical equipment and knocking down fleeing Talon employees to aid in his escape. With a growl of frustration, he ripped off his mask and helmet. No point in wearing them now.

 _“McCree!”_ It was Winston, and for the first time in a few minutes, McCree was aware that he’d been calling to him this entire time. The cowboy’s own pounding heartbeat had blocked it out.

“It was him,” McCree breathed as he ran, slamming open a back door to a pair of tall concrete stairs, “it was Reaper. I’m runnin’…”

_“Back staircase of 10B – yeah, we see you. Mercy, D.Va, Tracer and Pharah are returning fire near the main compound. Take the third-floor door out onto the roof – Genji and Lucio are inbound.”_

“They knew we were here. She had me in her sights…how…how did she know?”

_“We don’t know, McCree. We’re looking into it. Don’t think about it now - just keep moving.”_

**_“I am remote piloting the Orca to your location, agents. It will arrive in approximately five minutes and counting. Extraction point is as follows…”_ ** Athena calmly stated before rattling off a series of coordinates. McCree only half-listened before he was pushing the door open on the third floor.

And was then met with a crack to the nose with the bulk of something hard and metal.

Now it was McCree’s turn to stumble backwards, blood flowing freely from his nose. Another hard blow to the cheek sent him reeling, and he saw stars when the ground met up with him much too quickly. His fuzzy vision saw the outline of two thick black boots and fleeting wisps of black smoke.

It wasn’t possible. _It wasn’t possible._

“Confirm the kill, boy. Don’t you know anything?” crooned the voice, gravel crackling beneath the unforgiving soles of the boots before one was pressed firmly to McCree’s back. “Always so _fucking_ disappointing…”

 _Click_. _Click._ McCree shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. Well, this was how the saga of Jesse McCree ended – left full of holes and bloody by some damn phantom on a rooftop. During his first real mission back with Overwatch. After having _ruined_ said mission by being careless.  Now they were all fighting for their lives while he was ready for his to end with two bullets to the brain. In the distance, he could hear the steady rhythm of Lucio's music pumping through the air. Even at a distance, it filled McCree with a sense of calm. How silly this all was. What a way to go.

Whenever he’d pictured leaving this mortal coil, McCree had pictured the usual: a bright white light, harps and angels singing from on high. Well, he’d gotten the bright light part. Only it wasn’t white.

It was _blue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Sorry guys.  
> If its any consolation, next chapter will have some steamy bits. In fact, I might have to change the rating to Explicit. >:} 
> 
> As a side note, this fic will deal with topics regarding mind control. I know that weirds some people out, so I wanted to mention it ahead before the plot pops off. I haven't added it to the tags yet as I didn't wanna give away too much, and I apologize in advance if anyone gets creeped.
> 
> For those of you who are still with me here, hooboy do I have some shit planned out for you guys. 
> 
>  
> 
> Playlist for this Chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/uM2z60kDdZo) Walking on the Sun - Smash Mouth (yes, you read that right idgaf)  
> (https://youtu.be/qE67jPPCjpM) Hazy - Red Vox  
> (https://youtu.be/GKzsktuqwyU) Centipede - Knife Party  
> (https://youtu.be/7ut52Szpd-w) Where is My Mind? - The Pixies
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	12. The First Mission (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexually explicit content in this chapter, folks. Don't think its enough to warrant a rating change, but who knows.   
> In case it matters, this'll be Top!McCree and Bottom!Hanzo. They'll be doing some switching in this fic, but that'll be the primary set-up for most of it. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;D

Genji was the first to sense them.

He had to stop. Even in the midst of battle, even when shit was at its _worst_ , it was hard not to take notice when _they_ arrived. The very earth itself seemed to rumble with unbridled energy, and even through his faceplate he could smell the ozone and sea salt that permeated the air. The feelings of awe and absolute terror conflicted each other, but they were familiar all the same. They were the same emotions he experienced every time _they_ showed themselves on the mortal plane. The same ones he’d felt that night.

The night his brother had tried to kill him.

_Hanzo._

_“Uh, guys? **Guys?** Am I the only one who sees this? Do you…c-can you guys see...?” _ Lucio’s voice cracked into the com and Genji spun to try and locate him. The DJ was about fifty feet away, hands frozen mid-attack, with wide eyes towards a nearby rooftop.

And there they were.

Twin dragons, luminous, writhing, and twice the size of a school bus loomed like heavy storm clouds above the warehouse. The sky around them was darkened by their presence, from blue to slate gray thanks to their moonstone glow. But aside from their bodies, which undulated like seaweed in the surf, they were stationary. Their eyes were fixed downwards, blinding white, at the small figures that stood like statues beneath. When one roared and snapped at its brother in frustration, Genji’s elation at knowing that Hanzo was present for the fight dampened dramatically. He hadn’t bidden them to attack yet. They were _waiting._

_“It is Hanzo,”_ Genji replied to Lucio calmly. From across the way, he saw Mercy turn her eyes towards the sky and grow pale. Then D.Va, Pharah, and Tracer followed suit. He couldn’t blame them. Only he knew something they didn’t.

Now that they had come, this fight was already over.

_“My brother is here.”_

  

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t been able to remain hidden when the blow had struck McCree’s nose. When the second one found the side of his head and the man went down, Hanzo went blind. He hadn’t even thought to call out to them, and yet there they were, casting an oceanic blue glow at his back as he stepped out to face the Reaper. But he could not unleash them. Not yet. Not while that heavy black boot was pressed at McCree’s back. Not while those guns threatened with every passing second to spew blood onto the concrete.

“So the prodigal son has returned…” the dark figure crooned, head slowly turning to face him. The rest of his body remained poised to strike – a silent threat to keep him from coming closer. Hanzo did, however, note the subtle change in body language when he noticed the beasts staring down at him. _Good._

McCree took the opportunity, though brief as it was, to slide his face away from the ground and at the archer when Reaper’s attention shifted. It earned him a harder press of a gun to the back of his head, but from his expression he hardly noticed. His eyes were like dinnerplates, deep brown and full of wonder at the sight before him. Hanzo gave him a cursory once-over, curled his lip at the sight of the blood on his upper lip, and flicked his eyes back to his assailant.

“It would be _wise_ to move from him.” Although worded like a suggestion, Hanzo’s face meant it was anything but.

“Come to rescue the ingrate, hm? Now this _is_ interesting…” Reaper chuckled, once again sounding more like a hiss of steam than an actual voice. He quirked his head to the side owlishly, regarding the other man almost incredulously. “You really plan to strike me down? I am _death_ , archer. You have no chance.”

The dragons above _roared_ at the challenge with wide, fang-filled mouths. The buildings reverberated, threatening to cave in on themselves, and the fleeing men and women on the ground had to cover their ears. Hanzo seemed just as stony as ever, taking another confident step forward while he reached back to his quiver. Reaper did twitch minutely at the sudden onslaught of noise. Hanzo took note.

“You do not frighten me, devil,” he growled, drawing Storm Bow upwards. “Only demons created by man still haunt this world. You are _no_ different.” He nocked the arrow and drew the taut bowstring back, its point glinting with deadly intent. With that, he stared down Reaper with unyielding focus, powerful and angry. A demon in his own regard.  “Step back or I will teach you how _mortal_ you truly are.”

The Reaper laughed, this time with his shoulder shaking. His mask gave away none of his expressions. Hanzo found it difficult to determine if he was honestly amused by the situation or if he was just stalling. Maybe it was both. It made little difference when Hanzo saw the Reaper’s grip on the shotguns harden. Jesse felt it too, and squinted his eyes shut before opening them again. Time was up whether they liked it or not.

“To think, I was worried that monkey and his new Overwatch wouldn’t bring me a challenge,” Reaper snickered. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. It was now or never.

“I am no mere challenge.”

When the arrow flew, so did the dragons. Hanzo’s rage spurred them on, and they cut through the air between them like a wave cresting the seabed. Their ear-splitting roars at the prospective kill surged like erupting volcanoes, and the Reaper barely had enough time to screech before he was consumed and drawn upwards with them like a plastic bag in a gale of wind. Hanzo careened forward with them, pulled by an invisible string, before skidding to a halt in front of McCree, who was trying desperately to pull himself, and his jaw, from the ground.

Hanzo watched them for a moment before fixing Jesse in a fierce stare, breathing hard. McCree’s expression puzzled him – still all wide-eyed and reverent despite the dragons having passed him by, but he didn’t have time to question it.

“Stay _down,”_ he barked, drawing another arrow at the same time. “Do not draw their attention. I will be back for you.”

McCree opened his mouth to protest but Hanzo’s powerful legs had him bounding forward and across the gaps of the buildings to pursue his quarry, arrows launching downwards into unsuspecting Talon enforcers.

He didn’t stop to think that _maybe_ he should have explained _whose_ attention he was referring to.

 

* * *

 

 

McCree watched him go like he’d just seen the second coming of Christ. He couldn’t help himself. Scrambling to his feet, he ran after Hanzo like a bat out of hell, only stopping once the boundary of the rooftop kept him from moving any further. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood from his nose and lip, unaware of the wide, shit-eating grin that had split his face nearly in half.

He’d come back. He’d come back and _saved_ him.

Hanzo Shimada had waltzed up to the angel of death himself and had told him, in so many words, to kindly _fuck off._ For him. For no-good, low-down, ‘never got nothin’ right in his whole damn life’ Jesse fuckin’ McCree. Once again, he couldn’t help himself. With one hand, he let out a high wolf-whistle and jumped into the air, laughing and feeling like the damn luckiest sonnovabitch that ever walked the earth.

Well, he had been _partially_ right, anyway.

Poor Jesse had been too distracted to notice when the dragons changed their course until it was too late. The Reaper had vanished, along with Hanzo, from his view along the horizon. Instead, the twin blue ribbons rolled back on themselves, roaring and snapping at each other, in their effort to chase down their new prey.

Which was now, apparently, Jesse fuckin’ McCree. _Shit._

With a panicked hop backwards and a strained yelp, he broke into a sprint in the opposite direction. The close snapping of jaws over his shoulder made him fumble and look back. He was greeted with wide-open maws and long, razor-edged teeth framing glowing throats. Jesse fell on his ass. _Well, time to die again._

Except…he didn’t.

When he didn’t feel his flesh being ripped asunder or burned from the inside out, Jesse cracked an eye open.

Time slowed to a crawl and the world seemed to turn in the opposite direction. Stardust floated around him like dust through a beam of light. He was floating in a void of turquoise, the path before him stretching endlessly until he could no longer focus on its destination. _‘Like a river,’_ he managed to think before his thoughts went blank, ripples passing around and through him like when a rock hit a puddle.

The blue filled him and erupted from his mind and behind his eyes. He saw them – flashes of images. Pink trees shedding a deluge of petals, a hollow clonking sound mixed with the flowing of water. Black suits and fireworks. Sharp brown eyes behind the sheen of a sword. Crying. Laughing. Singing. _Begging._

The bloody taste in his mouth evaporated, his tongue tingling with electricity. It spread down his neck and through his limbs until he was practically boneless, air passing into his lungs like he was breathing water. A loud sound carried him along. Then a second. Rumbles. _Purrs._

And then McCree was flat on his back, gulping for air like a fish. He was back on the roof – no, _still_ on the roof. He hadn’t left. The air still crackled around him with unseen energy, and he could only let his eyes tip back to watch as the twin creatures meandered aimlessly through the air and then downwards. They had spotted something worthier to occupy themselves with, leaving their bewildered victim to his own devices.

He settled back down. A few minutes passed. Then a few more. Jesse tested his muscles…but ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to move. He felt _amazing_ just pressed against the floor, tingling from head to toe.

McCree didn’t know how long he laid there, but eventually a content smile came to his lips. His mind felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton wool, but he was honestly perfectly fine with that. The air felt cool against his skin when it slipped under the confines of his black gear, making him shiver. The clouds suddenly seemed so _interesting_. Maybe he could watch them for a while, taking advantage of the warm sunlight while he could get it. Would anyone mind? The com in his ear was nothing more than the buzzing of bees. What had he been doing again?

“McCree.”

Oh right. _Hanzo_. Hanzo had come to save him. _Man_ , he liked Hanzo a lot.

The man in question suddenly appeared above him, blotting out the sun with his well-manicured visage. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his hair had come loose to fall over one eye. McCree beamed up at him with unfocused eyes. _Beautiful._

“Get up. We must go.”

The cowboy was yanked to his feet and caught when he stumbled forward a bit. His heart swelled when Hanzo tucked himself under one of his burly arms and steadied him. Man, he _really_ liked Hanzo. Why couldn’t he admit it before?

“Where we goin’, sugar?” he grinned stupidly, ignoring the confused side-eye the archer responded with.

“We must hide. Talon’s agents are panicking now that the head has been cut from their chicken. The girl – Hana. She has reclaimed her MEKA from your transport and is assisting the others with eliminating the remainder. There are still too many to go through to get you to your doctor, so I must get you to safety and address your wounds. Can you walk?”

That had been…a lot of words, but McCree had _loved_ the way they sounded anyway. He’d caught the last part though – walk. Yeah, he could do that. With that same stupid smile, he nodded, though he was instantly pouting when Hanzo removed himself from under his arm. The warmth left behind quickly dissipated and Jesse felt a strong urge to get it back again.

“Good. There is a small storage closet at the foot of the stairs beneath us. I noted a first aid kit hanging near the door. Follow.”

McCree’s stomach did a flip when Hanzo grabbed his wrist and tugged. Helplessly smitten, he plodded along behind him, half-lidded eyes trained to the archer’s stoic face.

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo led the other down one flight of stairs and quickly shoved him into the cramped closet after raiding the small first-aid kit of its contents. Sure, the closet wasn’t his first choice, but the way he saw it they ran little risk of someone rushing in to grab a broom or dustpan. At the very least he could use it to examine Jesse, keep a lookout and wait until the dragons and McCree’s teammates had had their fill.

The archer flicked on the light and closed the door until only a crack remained open. McCree lounged back as much as he could against the wall behind him, that same stupid expression plastered on his features. It irritated Hanzo to no end. Couldn’t he see that they were in the middle of a battle? What the hell did he have to smile about at a time like this? The archer could feel a tick developing in his right eye. Stupid cowboy.

“Are you injured?”

McCree leaned forward a little and placed a gloved hand to his chest.

“Aw, darlin’, my heart hurts somethin’ _fierce_. Never thought I’d get t’see that pretty face of yours again.”

Hanzo grimaced and stared at him, completely clueless as to how to address this behavior. In true Hanzo fashion, he soldiered through it, ignoring McCree’s words for the foolishness they were.

“Bullets, McCree. Cuts, scrapes…hits on the head.” That one was starting to sound more and more likely.

“Mm, nope. Happy as a dead pig in the sunshine, honey,” he smirked. “Now that you’re here, I reckon I’m feelin’ finer than frog hair-“

A hand was slapped over his mouth and Hanzo growled in irritation.

“ _Cease._ I will look myself.”

The archer quickly went to work with scouring the other man for tears in his clothing or blood. Muttering under his breath in Japanese about the stupidity of American cowboys, he’d barely managed to make it to McCree’s chest before he felt a tongue swathe against the flat of his palm, hot and wet and _sinful_. The contact made him jump and flush bright red, yanking his hand away like it’d been burned.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Hanzo asked, wiping his hand on the front of his pants with a look of disgust.

“We _gotta_ stop meetin’ like this,” McCree drawled, wiggling his eyebrows. “First the elevator, then a lil’ ol’ closet? Startin’ to think you like bein’ cooped up with me or somethin'.”

Hanzo growled and spun on his heel as quickly as he could, mostly to keep from facing the obnoxious man, but also to contain his full-scale blush. He could feel the smug grin directed at his back but he quickly shoved it off along with his quiver and bow, setting them both aside.

“Deal with your own injuries then, fool. If you bleed out, you will have nothing to blame but that inane yammering mouth of yours.”

Seething, he fixed his eyes through the crack in the door. Light footfalls and shouting could be heard echoing throughout the warehouse, but nothing seemed close by. Good. He could use a bit of peace to calm his nerves after-

“Y’came back for me.”

The voice slid from lips that were pressed into Hanzo’s throat, soft and warm. The archer could _feel_ the words more than he could hear them, and was only more dumbfounded when McCree slotted himself against his back and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“What are you _doing?_ Mind yourself!” he hissed, attempting to squirm away. McCree just nuzzled harder, his hair surprisingly soft against Hanzo’s jawline. The archer found it downright impossible to change their positions like this – the man at his back beat him out in sheer bulk and seemed completely intent to just snuggle up against him and absorb his warmth. A little part of the archer urged him to enjoy it while it lasted. The bigger part quickly stomped on it with a pair of steel-toed boots.

"Y'came back for me. Saved my damn life."

“McCree, did you strike your head, or are you just-“

Then, like a gong being struck, a thought hit him. He stopped squirming altogether and turned his head to face what little of the man he could, expression deadpan.

“…you passed through a dragon, didn’t you.”

Unfocused, McCree met his gaze and smiled dopily with a nod. Hanzo loudly breathed a blue streak of Japanese curses and made an effort to shoulder him back, though his attention turned back to the crack in the door. _Idiot._ There was little he could do about it now. He’d have time to stop and think about the ramifications later. Still though…

Jesse was high as a fucking kite.  _Great._ Perfect timing.

“I _told_ you to stay down and avoid their attention. Do you _ever_ listen?”

“Mm, I like listenin’ to you.”

“Obviously _not_ , seeing as how you…you know what, never mind. I do not have time to argue with a simpleton. I must keep a lookout. Keep your pawing to a minimum and I may not be forced to remove your other arm.”

He narrowed his eyes and his focus to the crack in the door. Contrary to his words, Hanzo allowed the cowboy to stay as he was. Maybe it was a thirst for physical contact after being without for so long, or maybe Hanzo was simply becoming more tolerant for the man. Whatever it was, he found himself leaning into him a little more than was necessary. He had to admit, he was _comfortable_.

Or at least, he _was_ before the cowboy decided to let his hands wander.

One leathery gloved hand snaked its way up Hanzo’s arm, fingertips tracing the musculature and trailing along his skin. Hanzo attempted valiantly to ignore it, but only found it more distracting when that hand slid back down over his rib cage, memorizing the bumps and patterns of his torso. His mouth went dry and he suddenly felt hot. _Very_ hot. He…he should be stopping this, shouldn’t he?

“McCree.”

“Mm?” he asked, lips still pressed against his shoulder. They were gently mapping out the skin where his tattoo started, and then moving downwards over his shoulder blade.

“Your hand.”

“Mhmmm?”

“Keep it to _yourself,_ or I will-“ Hanzo sucked in a gasp when the other hand found its way to his exposed pectoral, momentarily flicking over his nipple. The sinful slide of that faux leather glove did things to Hanzo that he had absolutely _not_ been prepared for, and he ended up swallowing down the rest of his sentence with the lump in his throat. He felt himself harden almost immediately, though he really couldn’t manage to scrape up enough brain cells to be embarrassed about it.

McCree, the bastard, chuckled lowly in his throat and began to let his lips tease the skin beneath Hanzo’s ear. The archer leaned back a bit more and tilted his head just enough to let him do it. That voice was _deadly,_ and Hanzo was beginning to notice how much it affected him. Goosebumps rose on his skin. McCree seemed to revel in it.

“You were sayin’ somethin’, darlin’?” McCree purred, tugging his earlobe and drawing a gasp from the man in his arms. Hanzo found it extremely difficult to reply with agitation like he wanted to. In fact, his anger at being manhandled was very quickly dissipating into something _else_ entirely. Something dreadfully persuasive. Something _irresistible_. 

Everything about this was wrong. _So_ wrong. There he was, hiding from enemies while the rest of his team, if he could call them that, valiantly repelled them outside the building walls. Possibly getting hurt. He was _supposed_ to be focusing on the mission. He was _supposed_ to be keeping an eye out for danger. But that risk just made things _better_ somehow. The fact that at any moment, someone could walk in and see them like this…

And _oh_ , when McCree slid that slick tongue of his over his pulse point and went in for Hanzo’s other nipple under his clothes…

He found himself suddenly reaching up to the back of McCree’s head to fist in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto. The cowboy made a low noise of approval in his throat and continued to bathe his neck and shoulder in adoring attention. The noise whittled away at what little willpower Hanzo had left and he found himself letting out stuttering little breaths. How could a man like McCree, as rough and tumble as he was, manage to sound so _delicious_?

“McCree…” Hanzo tried, his breath hitching in his throat when fingertips brushed the sensitive nub through the fabric. The friction was _killing_ him, and if they didn’t stop, he wasn’t sure if he’d be _able_ to soon. The sound of his name did little to deter the gunslinger, who sucked onto Hanzo’s throat _hard_ and assaulted both nipples with unrelenting thumbs in circular patterns.

_“Jesse-!”_ Hanzo moaned, tugging at his hair with his fist as he shuddered. _That_ got McCree’s attention, for he groaned himself, deep and gravelly, before recovering control and grinning devilishly. If there was any consolation in the matter for Hanzo, it was that he looked just as gone as he was. The sight of him – pupils blown and unfocused, a pale flush spread over his cheeks – made Hanzo _squirm._

“ _There_ it is. Was always wonderin’ how I was ever gonna get you to say my first name. Hell, if I’d known it’d sound _that_ good comin’ out of you, I wouldn’t have wasted my time talkin’ in that shitty elevator. Voice of a damn _angel_.”

Hanzo flushed at the praise but was immediately too distracted to dwell on it. McCree had taken the middle fingertip of the glove on his flesh hand between his teeth and _pulled_ , delighting in how Hanzo’s gaze went unfocused with want at the action. He apparently saw an opportunity, for it took only half a second for him to claim the archer’s pliant lips with his own, earning him a soft noise of desperation that he swallowed right up.

Hanzo hadn’t noticed when McCree had settled them back towards the wall and away from the door. The cowboy’s tongue had him so thoroughly mesmerized and on fire that he gladly let him take control and slip a thick leg between his own from behind. The position left him spread and vulnerable, which only had him breathing harder when they finally broke apart. If there was one thing Hanzo wasn't used to, it was feeling vulnerable. With McCree, though, it felt _damn_ good.

“Mind if I give it a whirl?”

The question was whispered against his ear hungrily and Hanzo’s mind sped to try and catch on to what he meant. It proved fruitless, however, when that thick ungloved hand slid beneath the waistline of Hanzo’s pants and his brain short-circuited. The cowboy gathered his cock into his calloused palm and let his fingers play and explore for a second, sliding the ribbon of precum he found down along the shaft. Once satisfied, he wrapped those big fingers around him and began to firmly stroke the archer from root to tip, lips pressed firmly into his ear.

_“Hanzo…_ ”

Ah, so _that’s_ what he’d meant by give it a whirl.

His own name, growled so possessively and coupled with the grazing of teeth, had Hanzo _moaning_ recklessly. And _oh_ , that _hand_ …there wasn’t anything graceful or planned in the way it moved, but the pure unadulterated _gusto_ McCree had just seemed to have Hanzo coming undone even faster. How he could ever be so turned on by the sound of a proper noun he’d been given at _birth_ was beyond him, but the way it spilled out of McCree had him bucking into his touch.

“Haven’t been able t’get you out of my head since that time I caught you watchin’ me in the trainin’ area…” he started, and Hanzo felt drugged by the syllables, that heat in his stomach coiling tightly. He was close.  _So close._ “An’ just now when you were standin’ over me… _mmn_ , _honey,_ sing my name for me again…I wanna hear that pretty voice of yours…”

“J- _Jesse_ …” Hanzo moaned obediently, tugging McCree’s hair harder this time. He seemed to take the hint, because he picked up the pace, his grip on Hanzo’s cock tightening to urge him along. The man was a damn _villain_ and Hanzo couldn’t help but adore him for it.

“Mmn, _Hanzo…_ that’s it, sugar… _Fuck_ , you sound so good.” He bit down on Hanzo’s earlobe again and pinched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between his hand. When Hanzo’s sounds of pleasure only got louder and more desperate, McCree shuddered and growled into his throat again.

“ _C’mon_ , baby…wanna hear you _come_ for me…”

That was all it took. Hanzo saw stars as he came, mouth opening in a silent cry before sound finally caught up with him and a shuddering, full-body groan erupted from his throat. McCree continued to work him through it, whispering soft praises and murmurs of pleasure into his ear. It took Hanzo what felt like _hours_ to come down from his high, his hand going limp in the cowboy’s hair. The afterglow was _amazing_ , and he didn’t even mind when McCree peppered his shoulder with chaste little kisses. The other man hadn’t seen it fit to remove his hand from Hanzo’s pants, though now it sat on his hip, tracing little circles into the flesh there.

He would have been content to stay there forever with the cowboy warm at his back…if the door hadn’t chosen that _perfect_ opportunity to swing open and bare the pair in fluorescent lighting.

Standing there, chewing her bubble gum, was D.Va.

It only took a second for her to take in the situation – Hanzo stiff and blushing wildly with his hand still tangled in McCree’s hair, the cowboy’s hand still _in his pants_ – for her face to break into a wide, obnoxiously bright grin. She popped another bubble and pressed a finger to her ear.

“Found ‘em.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened as he quickly moved to disentangle himself from the other man. Much to his chagrin, McCree didn’t seem flustered at all. He simply blinked lazily at the girl before shooting her a two-fingered salute. His hand was still sticky from their previous _actions_ and Hanzo let out a low groan of utter, _utter_ embarrassment.

“Ye-ep. They’re _fine._ O-kay. Be out in a sec _,_ ” she grinned even wider, before folding her arms and examining her nails.  “So. You must be Hanzo, huh?” The archer said nothing, too busy looking mortified as he gathered his things and readjusted his clothes. McCree just looked smug, his bleary eyes trained on the telltale signs of a mark forming on the archer’s neck.

“Well, Hanzo, it’s nice to meet you. _Finally_. I’m Hana. And if you wanna keep this a secret, it’s gonna cost you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh-oh.
> 
> Playlist for this Chapter: 
> 
> (https://youtu.be/BrR1KtKgfm8) Mastermind - The Secession  
> (https://youtu.be/6QvMcQ2Eejo) Koto - CloZee  
> (https://youtu.be/IB1kIZDa2tQ) Stairway to Heaven (Traditional Japanese cover)  
> (https://youtu.be/4jV22UJND7g) Physical (You're So) - Nine Inch Nails
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	13. Blackmail and Conspiracy

A duo became a trio when the group made their way back to the others. Hanzo had to practically _pry_ himself away from McCree, who didn’t seem to give two shits about people waiting patiently for their arrival. In fact, the only way they could coax him out of the room at all was by promising a big dinner when they got back.

Food, fucking, and fighting – McCree’s old stand-bys. Since he’d already had his fill of the fighting bit and _some_ of the fucking, food perked him right up. Plus, since Hanzo was starting to leave without him…well, the only option was to follow, his distracted gaze unabashedly honed-in on the man’s ass.

Hana was grinning like the cat who caught the canary. Her eyes rarely left Hanzo’s stern face, smugness radiating from her. It was only made worse when she linked her arm in with the archer’s. He rolled his eyes. McCree just sputtered and decided to glare at the back of her head instead.

The rest of the Overwatch agents were gathered in the now largely open area of the main compound. Fissures in the pavement and black scorch marks spread across the faces of the buildings. Black-clothed bodies and, well, _parts_ of bodies were scattered sporadically, though the area was largely devoid of blood or gore. The aftermath of two very hungry dragons, most likely.

Mercy was the first to rush towards them, though she abruptly shouldered past Hanzo and made a beeline straight for McCree. Like a fussing mother, she gripped his chin in one hand and turned his face this way and that, scrutinizing his every pore for possible injury.

“ _Verdammt_ , Jesse McCree! You had me worried _sick._ What possible reason would you have to stop answering your com?”

“Oh, his com got shorted out, the poor thing. These two silly-billies got themselves locked in a closet! Can you believe it?” Hana giggled, waving a hand and patting Hanzo on the chest. The archer just stared ahead blankly, willing himself to somehow disappear or explode or _die._ Any of which would be preferable to the situation he now found himself in. A light elbow to the ribs brought him back to reality, Hana giving him a pointed look. Oh. _Right._

“Yes. Luckily the beautiful and talented D.Va was there to assist us.” The words sounded robotic and earned him a frown from the girl, though it eventually erupted back into a wide grin when she faced the others again. Damn brat.

“Damn it, woman, I’m _fine._ Quit rustlin’ me!” McCree griped, pulling a face when Mercy pulled out his prosthetic arm to examine it more closely. Hanzo knew he wasn’t lying. Despite the hard knock to the face and head, the cowboy was no worse for wear. The dragons had seen to that. The only illness he suffered from now was the curse of stupidity. And maybe blue-balls. Hanzo almost, _almost_ smirked at the thought.

A short green blip appeared in front of him, and when Hanzo lowered his gaze, big starry eyes peered up at him behind yellow goggles. Lucio was hopping back and forth from one foot to the other with unabating energy. Hanzo just arched an eyebrow at him.

“Oh man. _Oh man._ Your dragons were _so. Cool._ I was all like ‘whaaaaaat?’ and they were all like ‘rawrawrawr’ and everyone was all ‘oh my _gooood!’_ Yo, you _gotta_ let me get a sound sample of that roar for my next album. It would be so. _Sick._ ”

The archer didn’t quite know what to make of him and reeled back a step. Hana just leaned into him and beamed. “Lucio, Hanzo. Hanzo, Lucio. _Say hi_ , Hanzo.”

The archer cast his eyes upwards and sighed heavily, completely defeated.

“Hello, Lucio. It is a _pleasure_ to meet you. It must be such a privilege to be such good friends with the lovely Hana.” He recited his given lines monotonously, begrudging every syllable. This was going to be the death of him. He was sure of it.

Lucio looked puzzled, but laughed nervously. “Uh…yeah? I guess?”  

Hana preened and squeezed his arm tighter, tossing a glance over her shoulder at McCree. The cowboy had been glaring daggers at her over Angela’s shoulder this entire time, and only seemed to grow crankier when she met his gaze. Hana stuck out her tongue at him and immediately whipped back around to rest her head on Hanzo’s shoulder. The archer stiffened, looked down and then sighed again, letting her be.

Tiny storm clouds raged between the cowboy’s ears. He and Hanzo had been _perfect_ before she’d busted in and quashed it all. Hanzo had been all soft and snuggled into him, looking the most relaxed he’d ever been. And those _noises_ he’d made – ugh. McCree would have probably gone another round or two if they hadn’t been _interrupted._

 The girl had singlehandedly _ruined_ their glorious high and was doing her best to annoy the ever-loving _shit_ out of him while she was at it. McCree was nearly snorting steam from his nose. His mind was still fuzzy, sure, but instead of that pleasant buzz, McCree just felt ire.

Oh. She was going to get it. He had no idea how or when, but _man_ was she going to get it.

“Brother!” Genji called, trotting over to them. Hanzo gave the first genuine smile of the day at the cyborg, but it faded when the other dipped into a low bow. “I am sorry that I ever doubted you. I am glad that you are here.”

Two and two came together, and Hanzo smiled a bit more sadly this time when he realized what he’d meant. Of course he’d expected Hanzo to abandon him. It was what he was good at, after all.

“No need, Genji,” he said softly, tipping his head into a light bow in return. Genji straightened and looked from Hanzo to McCree and then back again. The next time he spoke, it was in Japanese.

_“Did I hear her say you got trapped in a closet with McCree?”_

_“More or less,”_ Hanzo glowered. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed the spot where the cowboy had left what was going to be a predominant hickey. He tried to keep from blushing but failed miserably. Genji’s eyes didn’t miss a beat and Hanzo could tell he was picking up more than he was letting on. The elder Shimada averted his eyes. Well, no point in hiding it from him. The Sparrow had the keen ability to sniff out secrets anyway.

_“My dragons…allowed him to pass through.”_

Genji’s demeanor changed dramatically in the span of an instant. He made a choking noise in his throat, head snapping to look at McCree again, then to Hanzo…then back to McCree…and then back to Hanzo…

Before he was doubled over in laughter.

He tried to hold it back. He _really_ did. But the loud, raucous sound spilled out of him while he bent forward and pressed his hands into his belly. Behind the mask, tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His shoulders were shaking. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen over.

The rest of the group looked utterly taken aback, glancing between themselves.

Hanzo just glowered at him and then rolled his eyes, shifting uncomfortably.

 _“If you are_ quite _finished.”_

 _“I-I’m sorry…j-just…just give me…hahah-_ o-one _more second…I c-can’t…”_ Genji wheezed. Hanzo curled his lip and turned his head away from the spectacle.

“What’s so bloody funny, then?” Tracer smiled from where she leaned against the parked Orca aircraft. Hanzo was grateful that none of them spoke Japanese. Small mercies.

Genji managed to recover and stood straight again, placing a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. The archer just looked embarrassed, but did not elaborate why.

“Hanzo simply told a funny joke,” Genji lied, gently shaking his head. Everyone’s expression told that they didn’t quite buy the explanation, but inevitably they shrugged and took his word for it.

“Winston has been trying to get a detailed progress report from us for the past twenty minutes. Something’s been weakening the com signals, so we’ve got a video feed cued up inside,” Pharah commented, jabbing a thumb towards the ramp of the Orca. She had some white bandages wrapped tightly around the upper part of her arm, a patch of blood poking through. Nothing serious, but Hanzo felt a very, _very_ slight pang of guilt anyway.

“Aw man, my _com_. It musta fallen somewhere…” Lucio griped, spinning on his skates to look around himself. “My first mission and I’m already losing hardware. Bummer.”

“Don’t worry about it, luv. Winston’ll have one up for you, lickety-split,” Tracer grinned, offering a thumb up before disappearing inside the craft. Lucio shrugged and glided over to the ramp, Pharah following suit. Genji gave Hanzo a meaningful glance and barked out a laugh again, only ducking just in time to miss Hanzo’s indignant swat. It was a remarkably familial gesture that had Hanzo smiling despite his outrage. He watched his brother enter the aircraft and rubbed at his throat again.

Mercy came to stand in front of him, her face pinched into a serious expression. Hanzo stared her down, unafraid and expecting conflict, but was genuinely surprised when she extended a hand.

“We are all…grateful. For your help. Thank you.” The words formed on her lips like she’d been sucking on a lemon. Hanzo took her hand for just a moment, allowed for one shake up and down, before letting it drop. He nodded but said nothing. He wasn’t sure he’d know what to say anyway.

“Come, Hana,” Mercy beckoned, taking the girl’s hand to lead her away from him. Grateful, but still wary. Somehow that made Hanzo feel a little better.

Hana cast him a _look_. “Come on, _Hanners_. Time to go!”

“Oh that just ain’t **_fair_**!” McCree complained loudly. She got to call him cute nicknames and he was barely allowed to say his first name? The gods were _cruel._

Hanzo tilted his head to toss him a split-second side-eye. He couldn’t manage anything more than that without feeling…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what to call it. Awkward? Uncomfortable? Turned on? He pushed them all down and schooled himself into his familiar, stony self.

“Come on, cowboy.”

With a grumble, McCree shoved his hands into his pockets, kicked the dirt in front of him like a scolded child, and followed up into Orca.

 

* * *

 

 

Winston was leaning _way_ too close to the screen when his image finally popped up on the holovid. He was surrounded by discarded banana peels and empty jars of peanut butter – a nervous eater, apparently. He demanded detailed reports, hurried out breathless questions. Athena’s calm voice in the background was the only thing to quell his agitation, reminding him to think of his blood pressure.

Always the example of professionalism, Angela was the first to attempt to explain what had happened. She sat in front of the screen, brushed a stray strand of blond hair from her forehead, and crossed her legs. She tranquilly recounted how they’d met some odd behavior at the truck pick-up, how all the Talon agents had behaved strangely aloof to their presence. After McCree had split from the rest, they had done a quick, routine perimeter check on the warehouse they’d been stationed at. They’d managed to witness large unmarked crates being loaded on top of each other with forklifts, overheard a few suspicious conversations. Nothing concrete. All circumstantial at best.

They’d been cut off when the alarms had sounded and McCree’s breathless report of Widowmaker rasped through the coms. All of the Talon agents had simultaneously become aware of them like snapping out of a fog, circling around them with guns drawn. Out of everyone, _they_ had been singled out even though they were dressed like the rest. Like they’d _known_ they were different.

Fighting their way out had been the only option. No one could break away for McCree, the thought making Angela frown. Like him, they had been beset upon like lambs to a pack of wolves.

 _“McCree, you mentioned Widowmaker had her gun trained on you? Specifically on you? I…still don’t know how any of this is possible. None of you had been followed? Bugged_?” Winston asked, tapping his chin.

“If I may…” Much to everyone’s surprise, it was Hanzo that ducked his way between the standing agents to be more visible to the screen. Winston’s eyebrows rose.

_“Mr. Shimada. Glad to see that you are back with us.”_

“Yeah, about that,” McCree piped up. “How’d you even _get_ here, anyway? An’ how’d you do it without Athena lettin’ anyone know?”

“I was well versed in the details of this mission. I left Gibraltar before midday the day before you departed, chartered a small private plane through one of my existing connections and remained hidden until I was sure you had touched down.” Hanzo said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 ** _“And I did mention his departure to Winston, as instructed.”_ ** Athena quipped. All eyes turned to the scientist, who was adjusting his spectacles at their scrutiny.

 _“What? I knew he wasn’t going to just_ leave _altogether_.” When they all kept staring, he sighed grumpily. _“There_ are _cameras in that elevator, McCree. I figured it was safe to assume he was…’warming up’ enough to be given some free rein.”_

Hanzo and McCree both stiffened, muttering embarrassed curses under their breath in their native languages. A few intrigued smiles were thrown in their direction. They’d be entertaining questions about that later.

 _“_ As I was saying,” Hanzo growled, waving a hand to disperse the tone shift of the room, “I believe I know how your presence was given away.”

“ _And…?”_

He shot a pointed look to Lucio, who straightened up at the attention. “Cab driver.”

“Woah, woah, I didn’t tell that dude _anything._ I _swear._ We talked about my album and I signed a few things for his kids. He had family that lived a few doors down from my cousins!”

Hanzo shook his head. “It was not what you said, per say. I suspect that once he made a fuss about your appearance when you exited the airport, it drew some unwanted attention. At the mention of your name, even in Portuguese, I spotted a member of baggage claim speak into a radio holstered at his hip. It did not strike me as odd at the time, but in hindsight that could have very well been what set things off.”

“And you didn’t feel obligated to _alert_ us that we were moving into a trap?” Angela snapped, her demeanor faltering.

Hanzo eyed her coolly. “As I said, I did not find it odd at the time. I also did not have the luxury of carrying a com. Moving in at that time would have been a death sentence for everyone involved. It was more strategic to wait.”

“Wait, so you tailed us all the way from the airport?” Lucio asked, unable to hide how impressed he sounded.

“Security was…surprisingly lax,” he said thoughtfully, chewing his lower lip. From where he stood beside him, McCree’s eyes were immediately drawn there. Hana zeroed in on it and made a point to take Hanzo’s hand and thread their fingers together. The archer was unmistakably tense at the gesture but was helpless to fight it. McCree’s eyes narrowed into slits. Hanzo forced himself to continue.

“I had been expecting much more resistance than what I faced. I could scale a fence at the far end of the tarmac and move unimpeded to one of the catwalk rooftops. Cameras followed me, but I was not pursued.”

“Now that you mention it, that computer system they had rigged up was _waaaay_ less bulky than most I’ve seen.” Hana said. “Only a flimsy firewall and some low-grade passwords between me and their whole system. I mean, I expected it to be a piece of cake, but that was almost like…”

“Almost as if…”

 _“…they were expecting us to make contact.”_ Winston filled in the blanks, looking troubled by the realization. They all did.

“Why would they do that?” Fareeha asked, voicing the most obvious question.

“Perhaps they simply knew it was an inevitability that you would come,” Hanzo supplied. “The exploits of Overwatch against Talon are not exactly privatized.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t a reason t’just roll out the red carpet like that. Even if they knew we were fixin’ to stop ‘em, they still woulda put up some kinda defense before invitin’ us in.” McCree murmured, tucking his Stetson back into place on his head with his mechanical hand.

 _“Well, you did mention coming into contact with Reaper. Maybe he was meant to act as defense.”_ Winston pointed out. McCree tensed and ran his fingers through his beard. Oh yeah. _Him._

“Trust me, that weren’t no defense I’ve ever seen. It- _He_ came after _me_ , guns blazin’. Wasn’t the other way around.” He needed a smoke. Pulling the remains of a half-consumed cigar from _somewhere_ on his person, he lit it and inhaled the heady aroma of smoke. Hanzo wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face. McCree threw an apologetic smile. The archer did not smile back.

“McCree…that man…the _Reaper_ , as you call him. You two shared some dialogue briefly, did you not?” he asked suddenly. Everyone’s attention was suddenly focused on Jesse and the man bashfully rubbed the back of his head.

 _“Oh? He spoke to you? What did he say?”_ Winston asked curiously, leaning in towards the screen again.

“Uh, just some stupid horseshit while I was gettin’ my ass kicked. Didn’t think much of it.”

“He spoke as if he had seen you before. As if he knew you,” Hanzo added, quirking a brow.

“Aw hell, like I said. The guy was nuttier than an outhouse rat. Probably just said that shit t’get under my skin.” He chuckled, but it did nothing to hide his sudden stress. “I think I’d remember a git like that.”

“Hm.” The single syllable spoke volumes and McCree felt the sudden urge to go on the defensive.

“You talked to him too, archer. Chased him off the damn roof if I remember correctly.”

 _“You engaged him too, Shimada?”_ Winston was enraptured, his glasses sliding down again.

“With assistance.” He muttered, referring to the scaled beasts at his beck and call. “But I did ultimately engage in combat with him, yes.”

“Y’mean he got away from those damn dragons of yours?” McCree asked in disbelief. Winston quirked a brow and eyed Genji before resuming focus. He’d attempted to study the power for quite some time. To hear that there were more just filled him with new ideas. But he was silent on those for now.

“Unexpectedly, yes. In almost all other cases that I have encountered, a direct blow from them would cause instantaneous death. This man did not escape them unscathed, but he escaped them nonetheless.”

“I saw those things take out like fifteen guys!” Lucio crowed, throwing his hands in the air. “Just plucked ‘em up and snapped down on ‘em like a handful of popcorn at the movie theater! Smelled a little like burnt popcorn when they were done, too. Pretty gross, actually.”

 _“But you ended up fighting him.”_ Winston confirmed again, unwilling to be deterred from the subject.

“Close-range. Primarily hand-to-hand, as his guns had been damaged when he’d been thrown, but my Storm Bow was also utilized as a melee weapon when given the opportunity. He was definitely corporeal. Strange and almost alien in characteristic, but still a man.”

_“Did he speak to you too?”_

“A bit. Not with the same familiarity that he showed for McCree, but I still got the distinct impression that he was aware of who I was. Though, I am hardly surprised, since my bounty has only risen since my seclusion at Gibraltar. It mostly consisted of jibes towards my defense of McCree. Nothing that I took the time to convert to memory.”

Winston pursed his lips and nodded in understanding, pounding out a few notes on his tablet.

_“How did he escape?”_

Hanzo paused. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he made a fist with his free hand, forcing it against his side.

“It became clear that I was needed elsewhere.” He responded vaguely. He could feel McCree’s gaze on him again, hard and searching, but he did not meet it. “I only remember seeing him being quickly drawn into a helicopter by a woman with long hair. I left him badly injured. He could not stand on his own.”

“Amelie…” Lena said softly, a frown marring her usually upbeat features.

 _“I’d like a full report issued from both of you when you get back.”_ Winston nodded, still typing away. Hanzo opened his mouth to point out that he wasn’t _part_ of Overwatch, but the ape didn’t give him a chance. _“All of you get some rest for now. We have a lot of work ahead of us after this. If what we’re dealing with is what I_ think _it is, we’re going to need a lot more manpower than what we have now. I have to make a few calls. But still…good work out there, agents. Winston, over and out.”_

Lena hopped from her seat and moved towards the cockpit, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck. “Be back in a drop of a hat.”

Everyone else moved to go spread out in the cabin. Mercy and Fareeha took their places at the rec table across from one another, Hana had blessedly turned her attention to Lucio to chatter excitedly about something. Genji propped himself up against a wall and seemed to power down, his lights dimming in an attempt to doze. Hanzo just felt…lost. Out of place. He looked at the cabin door and assessed whether it was expected for him to depart before they did.

McCree tapped him on the shoulder with two fingers. For the first time since their little rendezvous in the closet, they met eyes. Thankfully McCree’s gaze looked a whole hell of a lot sharper than it had an hour ago, though it still held something in it that made Hanzo’s insides twist. The cowboy jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to a secluded box seat lined with cheap cushions.

“C’mon, archer. This a’way.”

“I am…not sure if…”

“Oh come _on_ , Hanzo. I ain’t gonna bite you.”

Quite surprisingly, Hanzo’s eyelids fell just a touch and those brown eyes dropped to McCree’s lips and then back up again. Jesse found himself, for once, at a loss for words. He swallowed hard and thanked his lucky stars when the man graciously moved past him to sit where he’d been bidden to. Lordly and dignified with Storm Bow in tow. Like he hadn’t just eye-fucked him in the middle of the damn Overwatch airplane. Like McCree hadn’t jerked him off until he was moaning his name only an hour before. Damn _tease._

Jesse took a long, hard drag from his cigar, blew the smoke out the slowly closing ramp door, and stomped the butt out with his heel. He wanted to light up another one, but he wasn’t about to fill the whole damn cabin with smoke when he was trapped in with the good doctor. Plus Hanzo didn’t seem to like it very much. That seemed to matter a little more.

He settled in beside Hanzo, leaving a few good inches of space between them, just to be safe. When he looked up again, the man had let his hair down to readjust it. The black locks cascaded over one shoulder while he threaded his fingers through it to work out any knots, too fully engrossed in his task to notice that Jesse was staring.

The cowboy swallowed again, appreciatively eyeing that darkening mark he’d left on the once-pale span of flesh at his throat. Welp, there was no use denying it to himself any longer. What was once only a passing fancy had developed into a full-blown, bonafide fact.

Hanzo eyed him with a cute little tick of irritation between his eyes.

“…what?”

The gunslinger could only sigh dreamily and let his cheek come to rest against his fist. He knew he looked like a damn love-struck fool. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Mm. Nothin’, darlin.’ Just lookin’, is all.”

Hanzo just turned his attention back to his hair, combing his fingertips through its length.

“You are an odd man,” he muttered, though McCree swore he could see a little pink on his cheekbones.

Jesse McCree was downright head-over-heels for Hanzo Shimada. 

From across the cabin, Hana’s eyes glinted mischievously while she watched the exchange, pretending to be engrossed in her handheld video game console. Oh yeah.

This was going to be _fun._

 

* * *

 

“Oh man, Overwatch still uses _these?_ ”

A small piece of equipment was held aloft by a hand lined with purple LEDs. Yellow light roamed over the small intricate details as it was turned and examined. A small speaker. Blinking red light. It was a discarded com.

“ _Dios_ mio, this model is such an _antique._ You’d think with all that high-tech AI they’ve got that they’d invest in something…” A hand was waved in the air, purple rivulets of light traveling along her fingers while the woman searched for a word. “… _flashier.”_

“Hn, you will learn soon that none of those fools appreciate talented craftsmanship, _cherie_.” From the other side of the dimly lit room, a long rifle was being polished with great tenderness and care.

The woman with the com simply shrugged and tossed her purple-tipped hair. She ran her fingertips around the wide brim of her collar to straighten it before refocusing on the small gadget again. The tip of her tongue poked from the side of her mouth while she worked, the red indicating light suddenly turning purple under her touch.

“Which one of those fools was the one to hand Gabe’s ass to him?” she jabbed playfully to the hunched figure sitting on the cot in the corner. Occasionally he’d twitch and jerk, the sound of cartilage and bone snapping back into place under the smoky cloak.

“The new target.” The rasping, masculine voice forced through obvious pain, his body rattled when his shoulder snapped loudly. Neither of his colleagues seemed fazed by the display.

“Oh? Given up on the _vaquero_ so soon? _¿Pero creí que lo amabas?_ ” she crooned, smiling almost lovingly at the piece of technology that effortlessly bent to her will on the table. “Must have been pretty impressive to turn your head away from your boyfriend like that.”

“Focus on what you’re doing, Sombra.” He grunted, always unwilling to rise to her bait.

“You kidding? This is child’s play.”

“If only you could complete a task with such confidence out on the field,” the lilting French voice commented idly.

“You and I both know you were the one to choke on that Volskaya job. _And_ you’re just jealous because I look better in purple than you do, _ara_ _ña,”_ she snickered right back.

“Enough,” the man finally broke in, shakily standing and rolling his masked head to revel in the satisfying pops he heard. “Do your job, Sombra. This one won’t be as easy to get to as McCree. We’ll need focus to drag this one down.”

“And what, might I ask, is this illustrious target’s name?” she asked, clasping her hands together happily when the com burst into life. Voices buzzed from it – men and women. Young and old. American, German, Japanese. A nice little _peek_ into enemy territory.

“Shimada,” Reaper breathed, black smoke pouring from the slits of his mask to disappear into the dark. “Hanzo Shimada.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuuuunnn
> 
> so seriously, tell me. does the frequency of my updates bug anyone? should I slow it down? i keep bangin' out these chapters because i'm into it, but every time i wonder if i'm going too fast. let me know! i can always change the publication dates to spread things out or something.
> 
> i'm sure you guys have also noticed that i'm SUPER quick to respond to the comments you leave. let me know if that's weird too lol i just want you guys to know that i read all of them and that i'm grateful for each and every one i get. and i wanna be quick in telling you that. idk
> 
> also: i would LOVE to incorporate Doomfist into this, but i'm still trying to figure out if it makes sense for him to show up. maybe!
> 
> Playlist for this Chapter:
> 
> (https://youtu.be/0INEtWsa_6g) Pop It In 2 - Made in Heights  
> (https://youtu.be/sH3u9MxgmBk) Scanners - The Secession  
> (https://youtu.be/UtRF2m5oAzI) Project Phoenix - The Secession
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	14. Hopeless McCree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, you guys are all SO sweet. the comments and notes on my tumblr made me so happy - thank you. i'll probably sound like a broken record, but knowing that people are genuinely enjoying this stuff is just what i need to keep it going. 
> 
> as always, tell me what you think! im actually obsessed with kudos and comments. not even kidding. <3
> 
> on with the show!

Winston had been vehemently jabbering into the holovid when the Orca arrived back at base. He had dark circles under his eyes – Athena threw him under the bus for losing sleep almost immediately. Angela, of course, scolded him, but it did little to break down his resolve. They needed agents.

Mei Ling-Zhou had answered his call on the second ring. She rubbed her eyes, bleary with sleep, and adjusted her large spectacles over her chubby cheeks before breaking into a wide smile. The Chinese scientist had been stationed in the Yukon since her emergence from cryostasis some years back, studying the changes in climate while she had been asleep. She’d asked Winston about the recall – questioned his motives and asked if she was needed. Ultimately, it had been decided that her research would prove more useful in the long run.

In light of recent events, Winston had reconsidered.

“I will pack right away!” she said happily. Snowball, her small companion drone, zipped upwards and peeked into the camera over her shoulder. “I can’t wait to get started!” After a few seconds, she seemed to grow disappointed.

“Oh…but I have no way of getting to you. Snowball can never seem to make it past security and I cannot bear to leave him…”

“We will come pick you up.” Winston said quickly. “It’ll take a few days since the Orca went under some heavy fire during our last excursion, but I’ll send some agents once Lena has it patched up.”

“Mm, Winston, that will hardly be necessary,” she said. “The territory has only emptied since the Crisis. I doubt anyone would choose a vastly unpopulated area for a target.”

Winston wasn’t convinced.

“…I will send some agents. I know Angela and McCree would look forward to seeing you.”

“Oh my goodness!” Mei exclaimed, eyes suddenly bright and her hands pressed to her lips. “Does McCree still wear that cowboy hat?”

“…unfortunately,” Winston replied, rubbing his temples. “Though he has added chaps to the ensemble. I’m not sure if those were part of his repertoire when you were working together.”

“Mm, no, I do not think Gabriel would have sanctioned those,” she giggled. “…except maybe for Jack-”

“Thank you, Mei,” Winston cut her off, sporting a tired smile. “I know how much your research means to you.”

“Winston…” she murmured, “…if the world is not protected, what will be left for me to research?” She gave a little wave and Snowball chittered, then the line disconnected and she sent her coordinates. Winston sighed. Okay, one down, a million to go.

The debriefing of Hanzo and McCree was well… _brief_. Hanzo had seemed entirely inclined to leave out as many details as possible for some reason, while McCree…well, McCree had just been distracted. He kept glancing over to Hanzo as if waiting for permission to speak, sighing whenever Shimada had finished a sentence. After a few minutes of deliberation, Winston had decided to alert Angela that the cowboy was having some medical issues. Maybe a slight concussion.

The only wrench in the works, to McCree’s dismay and irritation, was that Hanzo kept bringing up his conversation with the Reaper. The archer simply would not let it _go_ , and it was starting to get under McCree’s skin.

“What does any of that _matter_?” McCree growled. “People always say crazy shit when they’re fixin’ to shoot someone.”

“It’s still worth looking into,” Winston smiled placatingly, tapping his stylus against the desk. “The best clues sometimes come from the most ordinary sources.”

“You gotta stop watchin’ those crime shows, Winston,” McCree grumbled back, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. “They’re rottin’ that big brain of yours.”

“In any event,” Winston continued, “I think we have enough to start running a few diagnostics in surrounding areas. I can almost guarantee that this wasn’t the only Talon installation, and if what McCree’s said is true, we can isolate a lot of it down to the locations of the omniums and anywhere omnics are prevalent. Plus the sheer amount of medical equipment they need to conduct that sort of… _research_ can’t just come from nowhere. I’ll have Athena scan transaction records for a few of the major medical supply companies. See if we can’t flush out a lead.”

Both parties nodded, with Hanzo being the first to stand. McCree’s little outburst had caused a bit of tension in the room, and it was obvious that he had felt it too. McCree couldn’t decide if he was still ticked off or regretful.

“Oh, Mr. Shimada,” Winston stopped him. “I, uh, wanted to thank you personally for your assistance out there. Without your help, this probably would have gone a lot…well, worse than it did. On behalf of the new and recalled Overwatch team, I wanted to… _extend_ an official invitation to-“

But Hanzo didn’t let him finish. He had already breezed out the door.

“…join. Us. Well, that was rude.”

McCree snorted. Obviously, he didn’t know Hanzo. Then again, was McCree one to talk? He pushed that thought away.

“Well can you blame him? Hell Winston, didja _have_ to go and bring up that shit in the elevator in front of the whole damn team like that? Buzzards are gonna be talkin’ about it for weeks.”

“Did _you_ have to go running off by yourself in the middle of a mission, McCree?” he countered, frowning at him. “I feel like I’m not the one who should be defending my actions, here.”

McCree narrowed his eyes. “You questionin’ my methods, _Commander_?” They both knew that McCree’s relationship with the former Strike Team Commander had been rocky at best back in the day. A hard man, Jack Morrison had had almost this exact same conversation with him, in that same room, multiple times. It was pretty common knowledge. Winston, however, was _not_ Jack, so the title being thrown at him stung a little.

“I’m not your Commander, McCree…” he sighed heavily, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Well then good. Quit hasslin’ me about-“

“…but I _am_ a scientist. And do you know what scientists are good at? Planning. Analyzing data. Running simulations. Figuring out what _works._ The plan was _not_ ‘hey you guys stay there while McCree jets off by himself.’ The _plan_ was that you were all supposed to _stick together._ It was Teams Alpha and Beta, not Team Alpha, Team Beta, and _Team McCree.”_

The cowboy turned his head to the side so his eyes could burn a hole in the floor. This felt like being scolded by your father, and the fact that he was pushing forty made the whole thing a whole hell of a lot more obnoxious.

“Look, I _know_. I know Blackwatch had their own way of doing things. I know Reyes had you guys trained to-“

“You don’t talk about him,” McCree snapped, bubbling with sudden fury. “None of you get to _talk_ about Gabe. You don’t know shit about him _or_ what we did.”

The ape held up his hands in a defensive gesture, but seemed to expect the outburst to some extent. This was a glimpse of how McCree had been _after_ the death of the founding Overwatch members – full of spite and bitterness. He had gotten through it on his own after years jumping bail and living alone in the desert, but it was clear that it was still there. Under the surface.

“The point is,” Winston continued, keeping his voice calm, “this _isn’t_ Blackwatch. And you’re not some vigilante out in New Mexico cruising for bounties anymore. You’ve got people here who depend on you. Who _care_ about you. Angela was frantic when she couldn’t get you on the com. I was too.”

Well that was enough to take the wind out of McCree’s sails. He slumped a little in his chair.

“…sorry,” he mumbled, uncrossing his arms.

“It’s…it’s okay,” Winston smiled softly. “Just do me a favor and don’t try to take on the bad guys by yourself anymore, okay? We’ve all got your back. No need to go it alone.”

The gunslinger nodded, feeling increasingly like a kicked puppy. “Am I free to go?” he finally asked. Winston nodded, his eyes back down to the tablet nearby while the other hand issued fast keystrokes to the keypad in the table. McCree stood, brushed the imaginary dust off his knees, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and McCree?” Winston again. McCree turned, raising both brows questioningly. The ape had a different sort of smile now. Almost…sly? “Watch out for closets too, okay?”

Ah, a joke. He shook his head and waved at him over his shoulder as he plodded out. He didn’t find it very funny. Hell, _none_ of what went down in that closet had been very funny. Thinking back to it just made his flesh tingle like it had after those damn dragons had done…whatever it was they did.

That was actually something he’d been meaning to ask about. Seeing as how he couldn’t seem to be around Hanzo at all without melting into a gooey, rambling mess meant he wouldn’t be able to get many answers from him. Not like the archer would be quick to give any anyway. Plus, with Hana hanging off his arm like a damn squirrel all the time…

He would have to go seek answers from the next best thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Genji was in his room when McCree rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. He was speaking into a holovid, the face of his master, Zenyatta, pleasantly filling the screen. When he heard the sound, he turned and tilted his head to indicate a friendly smile. Zenyatta raised his hand in a wave.

“Hope I ain’t interruptin’ anythin’,” McCree said.

“No, not at all! I was simply discussing today’s events with my master as a way to decompress. He has even accepted an invitation to come to the base since Winston is looking for recruits!” The cyborg sounded almost giddy. The cowboy couldn’t help but smile.

“To share the companionship of my brightest pupil would be an honor,” came the monk’s cool reply, his deep voice resonating through the screen even though his mouth did not move. “He has spoken to great lengths about his colleagues. I welcome the chance to extend peace to those who have been instrumental in strengthening his spirit.”

“Uh…well, thank ya kindly, partner,” McCree said awkwardly, tipping his hat. “Look forward t’meetin’ you too.”

“Come in and have a seat, McCree. I’ll just be a moment.”

Genji’s room was exactly what you’d expect from the man. Pictures of Japan’s landscapes littered the walls, along with bright, colorful posters of big-eyed anime characters in various poses. Upon his dresser sat a few trinkets – a stack of bent baseball cards, a small origami crane, a silver picture frame with two hugging children in it, and what _appeared_ to be one of Zenyatta’s orbs glowing tranquilly in the corner. Absently while he waited, McCree picked up the small picture frame and looked at it.

A tiny Genji, his hair fuzzy and sticking up at odd angles, had his arm tightly around the neck of who McCree could only assume was a very young Hanzo. While Genji’s smile was dazzling despite the few missing teeth here and there, Hanzo still held that same expression of annoyed stoicism stuck beneath a thick main of straight black hair. The way he was glaring at the camera was just _so Hanzo_. McCree could only snort. It was…actually adorable. Really adorable.

“See you soon, Master,” Genji finally said, bowing lightly to the screen.

“Walk in peace, my student. I shall keep you in my thoughts until we are reunited.”

McCree arched an eyebrow. Okay, well, that was a little weird. But those monk-types were always saying things like that, right? Either way, Genji seemed pretty pleased, making a little noise under his breath before flicking off the holovid. He turned back to the cowboy as if he’d forgotten he was there entirely.

“Ah…uh, McCree. You needed something?”

Jesse nodded, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. He’d changed out of that stinking Talon façade and back into his casual flannel and jeans. His discarded belt buckle was back in its usual spot, comforting and familiar.

“Wanted to discuss what happened back there,” he said.

“Oh?” the Sparrow asked, cocking his head to the side. “To what exactly are you referring? I seem to recall a lot ‘happened back there.’”

“The _dragons_ , Genj. The shit with the dragons.”

Genji tensed almost immediately and, for once, looked like he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the topic. His hands played with a stray thread that pulled free from the cushion he was seated upon, unable to keep still.

“This is perhaps a topic to be discussed with Hanzo…”

 “C’mon, Genj. You an’ I both know that won’t get me anywhere. You know just as much about the things as he does.” McCree took a seat on the small cot across the room from where Genji perched. He was familiar enough with the other man to know that he didn’t need to ask permission. “Help me out here. I feel like I’m goin’ nuts.”

Genji sighed exaggeratedly and, after a careful pause, nodded his chin to the door. McCree took the hint, flipped the switch to slide it shut, and then returned to his seat. Never knew who could be listening. Apparently this was some heavier shit than he thought. Shit that required privacy.

“…should it get back to Hanzo that I discussed this with you without his consent, I will hang you by your spurs over the cliff.” Somehow Genji made the threat sound lighthearted.

“Cross my heart an’ hope t’die.” McCree made the motion over his chest and held up his palms. Genji sighed again like he was experiencing actual pain.

“First, a question or two,” he began. “What was your experience, exactly? Do you remember any of it?”

“I mean, yeah, most of it,” McCree said, lifting his hat to ruffle his hair in thought. “It felt…good, actually. Like the time me an’ one of my buddies tried peyote back in the day. Only this was…different. Real different. It wasn’t like regular hallucinatin’, if that makes sense. I saw shit, but…wasn’t like pink elephants or dancin’ cactuses. This was like I was lookin’ through windows. Seein’ places I ain’t never been.”

Genji nodded solemnly. “Pink elephants, no, but…pink trees, perhaps?” McCree startled.

“How’d you know?”

“I will explain in a moment. Just…please continue.” He extended a hand and then placed it back into his lap to interlace his fingers together. “Tell me more about how you felt. Did you hear anything, or was it merely visual?”

“Yeah, heard some stuff. Voices an’ that sorta thing. Just bits an’ pieces. An’ like I said, it felt _good._ Better than good. Like I’d sunk low into a hot bath, but…inside an’ out. Reaper he’d…well, fucker knocked me in the head hard enough to toss my brain out my ears, but when I was in that dragon I didn’t feel a damn bit o’pain. In fact, now that I’m thinkin’ about it, I didn’t feel it afterwards, either. I should probably have a bruise or somethin’ but I don’t.”

“Yes, the dragons have been known to provide healing from time to time when a situation like this arises.”

“’A situation like this’? What’s that supposed to mean? What kinda situation is this?”

“Well…” He trailed off, untangled his fingers and tapped them all in rapid succession. “…I still think this might be a conversation better suited for you and Hanzo…”

“Genji…” McCree warned.

“I mean, I wasn’t _there_ , so I can’t be certain if I am even correct in my assumptions…”

“ _Genji.”_

“Fine. _Mendokusai…_ ” he relented, tossing his hands into the air in exasperation. McCree could practically hear the gears working in the cyborg’s head as he tried to think of how to word things. His hands came up to move around each other. “I will preface this by saying that we know very, _very_ little about the dragons themselves. Even after having been gifted with their power for generations, none of my family has ever reported having an actual conversation with one. They don’t even give us their names. Their motives are…well, incredibly mysterious. Sometimes confusing.”

McCree settled forward to balance his elbows on his knees, taking a moment to roll his shoulders.

“That being said…I believe what you have experienced is a…how should I put this. I guess the best way to describe it is a soul bond.”

McCree took a second to process the words, playing them over and over in his head. Nope, it was no use. “…a _what_?”

“It is not how it sounds!” Genji was quick to interject. “It simply means that, for some reason, the dragons saw _you_ as a sort of…kindred spirit to Hanzo. The images you saw and the voices you heard were likely visions of his past. Those pink trees were the ones that grew close to our home – cherry trees. Hanzo always loved spending long hours beneath them before he was officially taken under our father’s wing. The rest of what you experienced was probably more of the same.”

“Why me?” McCree asked, unable to really think of a better question.

“That I do not know,” Genji admitted. “As I explained, the motives of the dragons are known only to the dragons themselves. But my only guess is that there is something in you that is… _complimentary_ to Hanzo. Something that his soul needs from yours.”

“So…we’re soulmates or somethin’?” He couldn’t ignore the way his stomach flipped pleasantly at the idea.

“I would not go that far,” Genji chuckled, making McCree deflate. “But the fact that his dragons chose _not_ to destroy you means there is something very special going on. In all the years I have known my brother, not _once_ have I seen his dragons spare an enemy.” Then, after a pause. “…not even myself. They are the most virulent and vicious I have ever encountered. For them to bless you like they did…”

McCree was feeling lightheaded. He wanted to spin around. Dance. _Something_. But instead, he tamped it down. There was a lot that needed to be figured out first. A _lot._ And Genji had already broken his brother’s trust once for him – he didn’t need to drop that he had a crush on Hanzo too. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Though from the way Genji was acting, he was pretty sure he’d picked up on it anyway. Observant little shit.

“He told me to stay down and not let ‘em see me,” McCree murmured thoughtfully. “Y’think…y’think he knew…?”

“I highly, _highly_ doubt it,” Genji said much too quickly for McCree’s liking. At seeing the cowboy’s grumpy expression, he cleared his throat. “Ah, he probably worried they would hunt you down. The beasts are almost impossible to control once released, even for one as disciplined as Hanzo. And while they tend to feast on his enemies only...sometimes their definition of an enemy has been known to become clouded. They are directly connected to Hanzo’s spirit, so sometimes his judgement affects what they see. An enemy in Hanzo’s eyes is an enemy to them. I don’t think he ever truly saw you that way, but…” The image of the man Genji used to be came to McCree unbidden – scarred, torn apart, bloody and dying. He had to turn his eyes away. If he’d seen his own brother like that at one point, what chance did anyone else have…?

They sat like that for a few seconds, just absorbing all that was said, before McCree stood. Genji looked up to him expectantly.

“Well…thanks, Genj. I appreciate the info.”

“Will you be all right?” he asked, standing with him.

“Yeah…yeah I think so. Just a lot to take in, y’know? I’m just gonna…take a nap. Or a long shower. Or both, with some whiskey thrown in. Think I deserve it after all this crazy shit.”

“Well, you may at least take solace in the fact that you now have allies in a world other than our own,” he offered, patting McCree’s shoulder. “…and that my brother likes you. Though I can _hardly_ see why…”

That earned him a fake punch to the jaw and a light push. “Hey, I’m damn likeable. An’ charmin’. An’ handsome.”

“And _humble_ as well.” Genji laughed. “But yes, you are right. I am glad that, out of all the people in this world his dragons could have chosen, they chose you. You are a good man, Jesse McCree. You will be good for him.”

“…uh, and you’re implyin’ _what_ , exactly?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Genji backpedaled, though McCree knew better. He suddenly swiped his metal arm around the cyborg’s shoulders and wrapped him into a headlock. He rubbed his knuckles into the helmet of the struggling Shimada - a noogie for his unofficial younger brother.

“Ah, _McCree! Stop!”_ he whined, though he was laughing all the while. McCree eventually let him go and rubbed his head once more for good measure. After exchanging smiles, McCree tipped his hat, tossed a wave over his shoulder, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Genji just folded his arms and watched him go. Yeah, he was sure of it now. He’d be good for Hanzo. Now if only his brother could pull his head out of his ass long enough to see it.

  

* * *

 

  

 Unfortunately, if McCree thought the events in Detroit would change how he and Hanzo interacted, he was sorely mistaken. Actually, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. The archer went back to his old tendencies almost immediately – disappearing for long spans of time, going without food or sleep, avoiding everyone. Well, as much as he could. Hana seemed intent on making the man _sociable_ , and since Hanzo was in _no_ position to argue, he found himself around others much more often than he would have liked.

But that still didn’t mean he was growing any _friendlier._ He allowed Hana to drape herself over him with no small amount of discomfort, much to Jesse’s continued frustration, but otherwise remained stoic.

And he’d been avoiding McCree like the plague. That only made everything worse.

It wasn’t as if he wanted to discuss what happened in the closet at great lengths or anything, but the gunslinger still wanted to maybe _mention_ it. Hanzo seemed to like pretending things didn’t exist. In fact, he’d gotten into the habit of leaving the room if he and McCree were the only ones in it. The only proof that the little run-in had even occurred was Hanzo’s tenable tolerance of the Korean nineteen-year old leaning against him. Jesse was starting to wonder if maybe he had just had a really overactive imagination and had made the whole thing up.

Well, if that was the case, then Jesse’s overactive imagination had led him to jack off in the communal showers to the fake memory of a splayed, writhing Hanzo. Three times.

It in no way helped that, every so often, McCree would catch Hanzo looking at him from across the room with an expression of…longing? Lust? It was horribly fleeting every time so the gunslinger never had enough time to analyze it properly. But whatever it was, it went straight to McCree’s cock and caused the poor cowboy to quickly excuse himself more often than he would ever admit. Naked archers filled his dreams with fiery brown eyes, hot mouths and commanding voices. McCree felt like a stupid teenager again, skulking off to moan and touch himself in the privacy of his tiny, messed up dorm room.

But not only that, McCree would find himself daydreaming about ‘regular’ things. Looking up at the stars with Hanzo’s head on his shoulder. Or cooking with him. Or even just telling him a joke and having the man genuinely laugh without holding it back. He found himself wondering a lot about what Hanzo would look like in one of his shirts. Not naked or anything – well, _maybe_ , but most of the time he just pictured Hanzo spread out on a couch somewhere, reading a book in a pair of sweatpants. Or lounging against him in an oversized flannel while McCree played guitar.

McCree had been sighing and staring off into the distance so much that Angela had even inquired if he was experiencing stomach issues. When she’d discreetly asked him if he’d needed any laxatives, McCree decided this just would not _do._

Some serious wooing was in order here.

But…how did one go about wooing a dragon? Especially a dragon that had no _interest_ in being wooed?

Well, according to McCree, the answer was _often_ and _persistently_.

Back in the Santa Fe of McCree’s youth, the cowboy had become _very_ accustomed to pursuing girls. Even older women if he was feeling particularly bold. Seeing that men were probably more worth his time came much later in his life, but at that point he had been roped in with Blackwatch and had very little time for romantic _anything._

But this couldn’t be much different…right? Basic courtship rituals tended to cross gender and cultural boundaries, didn’t they?

So it came as no surprise when Hanzo was greeted with a small stuffed cat with a blue ribbon around its neck sitting near his door one day. McCree had waited around the corner eagerly to wait for him to pick it up, and felt his heart flutter when Hanzo lifted it up, read the small note attached, and carefully brought it into his room.

It did nothing for his confidence, however, when Hana had the toy cat perched on her shoulder while she played her games later that day. Thankfully the note had been removed, but that just wasn’t the point.

“Hey, where’d you get that?!” McCree exclaimed in horror, pointing at the offending plush toy.

“Hanzo gave it to me. Isn’t it cute? I named it _Somteol_. Means ‘fuzz’ in Korean.” She continued to roll around the little joystick under her thumb and didn’t remove her eyes from the screen, so she missed the way McCree glared at the toy’s black button eyes. _You were supposed to work, damn it._

McCree was slightly heartbroken, but still determined. Okay, so toys weren’t Hanzo’s thing. He probably should have guessed that what with how serious he was all the time. But there were still way more options out there. He was going to find _something_ that worked or hell, he would die trying.

The next day, Hanzo nearly stepped on a small white box with a gold ribbon that sat in the spot the cat had been before. Curiously, he picked it up, read the note, and shook the small thing to try and guess its contents. McCree was _sure_ about this one. He’d scoured the small city nearby and had utilized every lick of rusty Spanish at his disposal to try and cultivate such a charm. When Hanzo lifted the lid, McCree’s spirits soared. When the archer pulled a face and began looking around the hallway, the cowboy had to duck to avoid being seen.

The delicate golden arrow pendant was hanging from a chain around Hana’s neck when McCree ran into her coming down the hall.

“Isn’t it pretty? Must have cost a fortune…” Hana gleefully said, holding it out for McCree to see. The cowboy offered a forced smile that was more teeth than genuine sincerity. “I mean, it’s probably because I’m blackmailing him and all, but he’s been _super_ sweet to me lately. Well, if he thinks I’m letting him off from being my slave, he’s got another thing coming!”

Oookay, so jewelry was a no-go. Hanzo was a _dude_ , so Jesse probably should have seen that coming too. But again, Jesse was persistent. Next came flowers. Everyone liked flowers, didn’t they?

The orange tiger lilies he’d picked out never even made it inside the door. They had just been pushed aside delicately with a prosthetic foot to let Hanzo pass. By the time McCree made up his mind to whine to Genji, they had already begun to wilt.

“Nothin’ I’m doin’ is makin’ a damn bit of difference!” McCree mumbled, his face pressed down into the mess hall folding table. His coffee had gone cold an hour ago.

Genji just sat placidly across from him, his chin balanced on his steepled fingers.

“What sorts of gifts have you been offering?” Genji asked.

“Well, first I got him this lil’ stuffed cat I saw when we went to go grab supplies. Had a pretty blue ribbon, so I figured-”

“Hanzo hates cats.” Genji supplied, blinking slowly behind his faceplate. “He has always preferred dogs, though he finds pets to be a general nuisance anyway.” Wow, what a buzzkill.

“Well, uh…then there was the gold arrow necklace I found at the jewelry store downtown. Had the lady box it up all nice and fancy – “

“Hanzo is a warrior who barely wears clothing, McCree,” Genji snickered. “You honestly think he is going to wear something that he wouldn’t deem useful in battle?”

“Well I don’t know!” McCree wailed. “It reminded me of him! I woulda worn it!”

“You wear a three-pound gold belt buckle that tells people you are a bad ass motherfucker, McCree. I _know_ you would have worn it.”

“…it ain’t three pounds.”

“Next.”

McCree didn’t even know if he _wanted_ to keep going like this. Talking to Genji only made him feel like this was a completely futile endeavor.

“I uh…I found these real pretty orange flowers down at the market. I’ve always been real partial to orange, and I know Hanzo’s room is mighty scarce as far as decoration…”

Genji hissed through his teeth and cringed. “They weren’t lilies, were they?”

McCree raised his head just a little to look at him, his Stetson slipping backwards. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh McCree…” Genji shook his head, his voice laced with pity. “In our culture, orange lilies represent a feeling of _hatred_ for the recipient. Out of all the flowers in the market, you _had_ to choose those?”

 The cowboy just groaned loudly and pulled the brim of his hat down over his ears. “This is so stupid! I used to be so good at this shit! Hell, just the other day I sweet talked a pretty young thing down at the bar into givin’ me three free beers an’ a bottle of Jack t’take home with me!”

“Are you honestly comparing Hanzo to a bartender that you didn’t even bother to get the name of?” Genji couldn’t have sounded more amused if he tried. When McCree groaned in frustration again, Genji patted his hatted head gently. “McCree, I believe you are overthinking this. My brother is enigmatic about many things, but the list of things he likes and doesn’t like is actually quite obvious.”

McCree peeked up at him curiously but didn’t remove his hands. He must have been shooting his puppy dog eyes, because with a heavy sigh and a wave of his hand, Genji spoke.

“Alright, alright, _fine_. Though I want you to know how _creepy_ I think it is that I’m helping you seduce my brother.”

“You’re…you’d really help me out?”

“Of course,” Genji said without hesitation. “The idiot needs a bit of happiness in his life. Who says it can’t come from a silly American cowboy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so can you guys tell that i like writing about the dragons? because i like writing about the dragons. 
> 
> i also just really liked writing this chapter in general. McCree floundering around trying to get on Hanzo's good side is just...uh. its my jam. 
> 
> Didn't really have a playlist for this chapter. to be honest, i'm probably gonna stop posting them at the end unless you guys really want me to. i'm getting kinda lazy and i realize most of the music won't make any sense to anyone but me, so. c{:
> 
> wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	15. East Meets South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll just start by saying this was one of my favorite chapters to write to date. 
> 
> i hope you all like it. :]
> 
> as always, lemme know what you think. kudos and comments are always appreciated.

If anyone ever dared to tell Hanzo Shimada, blood heir to the Shimada-gumi of Hanamura, destroyer of men and wanted criminal, that he would eventually find himself sitting where he was now, he probably would have killed them. Badly. With his bare hands.

But life had a funny way of working out. As it was, the archer had a flowery braid in his hair, a video game controller in one hand and Hana holding the other. They were both sitting on the generic blue couch in the common room facing the television.

“Hold _still,_ ” the young woman hissed, yanking his hand forward more into her space. The color she’d chosen for his nails was called _‘Catch of the Day,’_ and she’d wanted to see what it would look like before she tried it on herself. So, of course, Hanzo became the guinea pig – a turn of events that he’d become more than used to over the past few days. The braid she’d seen online and had just thought it was too adorable not to attempt. Hanzo fell victim to that, too.

“I find this all incredibly ridiculous,” he grumbled, taking a second to appraise the rich blue color she had already adorned his other hand with. It _actually_ wasn’t a terrible shade, though he would never say it out loud.

“You should be glad I didn’t choose hot pink. It’s what I usually go with,” she shot back, the tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration. “At least I went with a color you look good in. I _guess._ It’ll definitely look better on me, though.”

“Why am I holding this,” Hanzo asked, shaking the cordless controller at her.

“Well we gotta let your nails dry, _duh_. So I’m gonna teach you how to play!”

“Play…?” Hanzo repeated, the word sounding unimaginably foreign on his tongue.

“Okay, I _know_ you aren’t that lame. Quit it. Yes, _play._ 16-Bit Hero. They had it all over Hanamura last time I was there. You _have_ to have seen the posters.” He _was_ familiar with the pixelated adventure game. A similar incarnation had been one Genji used to love back when he was a boy. After a ridiculous amount of begging and pleading, their father had purchased a small arcade for them to amuse themselves with on the edge of their property. Hanzo had always ignored Genji’s cries to join him. It had always been one of Hanzo’s many regrets after their…’falling out’.

But he was a grown man now. A grown man having his nails painted by a nineteen-year old girl, but still a grown man. Video games served no purpose. They did little to train the body, if anything at all, and only acted as a diversion when people had nothing more worthwhile to do. There were always physical exercises to perform, chores to complete. All of this sitting around staring at a television just seemed… _pointless._

But he had no leverage with which to fight the girl, so he rolled his eyes, straightened his beard with his fingers, and settled back into the couch. If he didn’t want to be the center of gossip, he was going to have to play along. For now.

“Hold _still!_ God, do you _want_ smudges?” Hana yelled.

“…I suppose not?” Hanzo said, suppressing an amused smirk at her outburst.

“That’s right. You _don’t._ And what is with your nails, anyway? Do you bite them or something?”

Hanzo looked at his other hand with mild surprise. They didn’t look any shorter than he normally kept them. “I keep them short to prevent dirt from getting under them. Is it a problem?”

“Well, no, I guess. But it’s hard trying to paint tiny baby nails, y’know?”

Hanzo snorted. “They are _hardly_ that bad.”

“Uh, no. They are so _totally_ that bad. In fact, we should see if Lena would wanna go downtown one day and get mani-pedis. I know Fareeha isn’t into that stuff and Angela can’t wear polish…”

“…you _do_ realize I am a man, correct?” Hanzo asked incredulously, wondering where down the line the girl had gotten the impression that she could treat him like a girlfriend. Or personal mannequin. His purpose to her seemed to change with her mood.

“Uh, I’m sorry, you don’t have to be a girl to appreciate a good manicure. Get with this century, sheesh.”

She eventually settled back with a satisfied smile, twisting the cap back onto the polish. Gently, she leaned forward to blow lightly on his nails to dry them more quickly. Unfamiliar with the rituals of the fairer sex, Hanzo thought the process was fascinating and watched her with both brows raised. He jumped when she suddenly snapped up and leaned a little too close to his face, gripping his forearm. Her eyes were bright and a little too wide. She looked overly excited about _something_ and he’d come to realize quite well that when she got _that_ expression, nothing good could come of it. Hanzo was immediately wary.

“…oh my _gosh_. I just got an _amazing_ idea!” she squealed, bouncing a little where she sat.

“And that would be…?” Hanzo asked suspiciously, eyeing her sideways with a little curl to his lip.

“I can totally help you!” she said cheerfully. “Modernize, I mean. Some new clothes, new hair…we can look up some ideas online! Lena’s good with hair, so we wouldn’t even need to _go_ anywhere for that. You could _totally_ ditch the medieval samurai thing and literally _get with this century!_ ”

“No.”

“But _Hanzooo_ -“ she whined, pressing her cheek into one of his bulky shoulders and looking up at him with baby doll eyes. “It’d be _so much_ fun! Plus I _know_ you only have, like, two outfits besides this one. And you’re my _slave_ and have to do what I say!”

Hanzo just made a noise and grimaced, turning his eyes to the dancing warrior sprite on the video game’s title screen.

“…plus I think _Jesse_ would like it.” She sat back on her heels again and pointed a smug smirk at the way his cheeks got red.

“I do not _care_ what the cowboy would like,” he bit back, sounding much more forceful than he’d meant. Now it was Hana’s turn to roll her eyes as she untangled herself and reached forward to take the controller from him.

“Oh _please_. Remember how we got involved in this little arrangement in the first place, Hanners,” she said, blowing a bubble with her gum while she mindlessly played around with the buttons. “It’s not like I found you guys playing checkers or something.”

“That was…he was not himself.” Hanzo felt a little pang of disappointed when he said it, but it was the truth. Now anytime he and Jesse even made eye contact, the other man ran from the room like he was going to be sick. It explained the odd sighs and looks he’d tossed his way back from Detroit too. Feeling like the gunslinger had wanted nothing to do with him, Hanzo had decided to leave him alone. He hadn’t even pursued more of their shooting lessons, which he missed greatly. But it was probably for the best.

“Yeah _okay._ And me and Reinhardt share clothes. I’m not _dumb_ , Hanzo,” Hana replied sarcastically, dancing a little from side to side when the cartoonish music of the game started up. Hanzo watched the small skull knight on the screen shoot balls of light into angry-looking blobs of slime. Hana effortlessly hopped from platform to platform, decimating her opponents, racking up combos like it was her job. All the while she continued the conversation like nothing else had her attention at all.

“It’s fine if you have a crush on him,” she said, chewing her gum animatedly. “He’s pretty good looking. _Old_ , but good looking, if you’re into the ‘I like eating beans out of a can over a campfire with a coyote’ sort of thing. Which you _clearly_ are. Plus, you’re old too. So it works out.”

“I do _not_ have a _crush,”_ Hanzo sputtered indignantly. That just made Hana giggle.

“Okay, wow, first rule of having crushes: if you _say_ you don’t have a crush, you _totally_ have a crush. Do you live under a rock or something?” Making it past level one, she smiled, pressed pause and handed the controller back over. After he reluctantly took it from her, Hana swooned, the back of her hand against her forehead while the other pressed to her chest.

“Might as well face it, Hanzo. ‘ _Yer jus’ destined t’be his lil’ honeybee_ ’!”

Her attempt at McCree’s southern accent made Hanzo laugh before he could shut himself up, the sound exiting his throat like a bark. That just made her smile harder. Unwilling to spoil the mood, Hana decided to change the subject, placing Hanzo’s hands so that he was able to reach the appropriate buttons. Hanzo allowed her to do so, glancing down to the controller, then back up to the screen, then down again.

“Okay, so this one’s easy. Right trigger is shoot, the blue button is jump and you run by tilting the joystick. Back button’s your inventory – like bombs and stuff, but you won’t need those until like level six…”

“And what is the objective, exactly?” Hanzo asked, testing the controls by running the little knight in circles for a minute. “Why am I doing this? Why does _anyone_ do this?”

“Uh, because it’s fun?” Hana answered with a snort. “Man, Hanzo, you _really_ have to lighten up. Don’t you do anything just because it feels good to do?” She paused, then smiled lasciviously, wiggling her eyebrows. “…McCree doesn’t count.” Another blush creeped over his face while his attention was directed at the screen and she cackled behind her hand.

“My free time is dedicated to training,” he answered as easily as he could, though he cursed softly under his breath when his tiny avatar was squashed beneath a moving platform. “It has always been that way. Complacency is the forerunner of mediocrity.”

“Oh my _God_ , Hanzo,” Hana groaned, rubbing her hands down her face. “You sound _so lame_. Tch, after your makeover, I am _so_ teaching you how to have fun. Way more games, vegging out on the couch with a movie…oh! I think Lucio’s got a karaoke machine in his room, too!”

“That might not be the best idea,” Hanzo said, though he was smiling genuinely over his shoulder. “Reinhardt would simply change the library to nothing but Hasselhoff _._ The rest of the team would go deaf.” The man had bent his ear about the famous musician and actor for at least an hour the other night, making Lucio roll his eyes and pull disgusted faces over his shoulder. Hanzo had tried to bury his attention at the bottom of his teacup, but the bear of a man refused to relent.

Hana just laughed and swatted Hanzo’s shoulder. “See! You’re so funny when you wanna be! You just gotta _relax_ a little. I promise it won’t kill you not to be so _serious_ all the time.”

Hanzo made a noncommittal noise and huffed in frustration when his character died yet again, this time from an unexpected spike falling from the ceiling. Hana blew a raspberry and leaned over to take the controller. Hanzo fixed her with a curious look, but then found himself melting into a smile. The first one he’d given anyone in a very, very long time.

…he would never tell _her_ , but being the ‘slave’ of Hana Song was sort of… _fun_.

 

* * *

 

 

As days continued to pass, Hanzo was unwittingly becoming more and more accustomed to the others he was living with. Besides Angela, who still remained as skittish as a deer in his presence. He was fine with that. Hanzo couldn’t really say that he cared for her pinched glares or scathingly backhanded comments. He couldn’t manage to really blame her either, though. She’d been the first to respond to Genji’s ‘condition’ and the reason he was the way he was today. Hanzo’s presence was just a testament to his pain and suffering. No wonder she wouldn’t like him.

But the rest proved to be… _pleasant_ , in their own ways.

Lucio, for example, had decided to join the Hana bandwagon after hearing from the girl how ‘utterly hopeless’ the archer was. With her help, they had actually succeeded in getting Hanzo to attempt a few levels of a rhythm dance game that Lucio had contributed some music to. Not that he had much choice. Surprisingly, the archer had picked it up pretty easily. They’d both high-fived when Hanzo commented that he appreciated the amount of physical effort it required to play.

“You can borrow it whenever you want, man!” Lucio said, grinning brightly. “It’s really good exercise. Plus the beat is _sick_ on most tracks. It totally beats running on a treadmill or something.”

Taking him up on his offer, Hanzo ended up borrowing it several times after that, careful not to tear the soft footpads with his feet. And that he was alone. He _did_ have an image to uphold.

Reinhardt and Torbjorn ended up being amiable conversation partners once they’d plied Hanzo with a bit of alcohol. Not enough to be drunk, as Hanzo strongly limited himself when it came to anything but sake, but enough to take the edges off their booming, thunder-like voices. Torbjorn’s grudge against the elder Shimada had withered to dust once he’d been allowed to inspect the intricate prosthetics at Hanzo’s knees. The short man had cooed with appreciation, appraising the work like they were works of art. When Hanzo had flipped open one of the panels to display the artificial ligaments and wiring to let him examine them unhindered, Torbjorn gruffly commented ‘…okay, maybe you aren’t that big of an asshole.’ It was the best Hanzo could have hoped for.

Hanzo and Reinhardt shared similar taste in classical literature. That was enough to get the taller man to slap him hard on the back and declare him a friend for life.

Fareeha, being so close to Angela, was a bit more reserved than the others. That being said, she still allowed herself to participate in a bit of easy small-talk over tea one day. They discussed the weather, the news, and future plans for Overwatch, neither offering too much or too little. For some reason, though, when she emptied her cup and placed it into the sink, Hanzo got the distinct impression that an air of discomfort had lifted between them. Just a little. It was not unpleasant.

Winston, ever persistent, had eventually grown tired of waiting for Hanzo to come around. After being avoided so avidly by the elder Shimada brother thus far, it came as no surprise when his frustration eventually boiled over. Hanzo quickly found an ID badge and a stack of paperwork being nearly thrown at him one day when he was exiting his room.

“Welcome aboard, Agent Shimada,” he muttered gruffly, pushing his spectacles up. “Staff meetings are every third Wednesday and I ask that you put in at least 20 hours of training a week at the absolute minimum. Meal duty has a rotation board that’s posted in the break room. Don’t use too much of the hot water and…uh, please, _please_ don’t make me regret this.”

Hanzo wasn’t _quite_ sure why he remained silent, but he did. Winston looked a little surprised too, but smiled relievedly when the archer just nodded to his instructions. 

“If you have any questions or if you need anything, you know where to find me. Welcome to the team.”

 _Team._ Hanzo…didn’t quite know what to make of that, but the way the word clanged around in his head had him too stunned to respond. _Team._ He was part of a _team_ now. It really should have set off warning bells, but as Winston lumbered away, they never went off. Hanzo just took it as a good sign and pocketed the ID badge. _Team._ He was _Agent_ Shimada now.

Genji was more than pleased when he heard the news. Even though the cyborg had been… _unusually_ absent recently, he still managed to leave Hanzo a nice little note congratulating him for his acceptance. It came attached to a small origami dragon, gold and blue rivulets running through the hand-pressed paper. Hanzo put it on his dresser – the first piece of decoration to adorn his new… _home_.

Lena was quick to join when he and Hana began their time together. The bubbly girl was often seen sitting on the arm of the couch with her legs stretched out, watching while Hana bickered with Hanzo over the best way to attack an enemy or complete a level. When Hana had brought up the makeover idea, Lena could not have been more onboard, already gushing with the younger girl about possibilities. Hanzo found himself liking the attention for some odd reason, preening under the compliments to his hair and bone structure.

“Are you attached to this bit o’ gray, luv?” she asked, gently fluffing out the two tufts of ashen hair on either side of Hanzo’s face.

“Not particularly,” Hanzo said thoughtfully, shrugging his shoulders. “I have simply had no reason to concern myself with it.”

“Well, the only reason I’m askin’…I could _really_ see you with some sort of… _shaved_ look. Think it’d bring out your eyes and make you look a bit younger. Real ace if you ask me!”

“I…suppose I wouldn’t see the harm in it…” Hanzo said reluctantly at Hana’s encouraging nod. He was a warrior, after all. What mattered was the sharpness of his arrows; the ferocity of his resolve, not his hair. It could always grow back if they butchered it.

“Brilliant! Got a pair of clippers in my room. Be back in a jiff!” She hopped up with an excited whistle and zipped from the room.

“This is gonna be look _so good_ , Hanzo. Trust me,” Hana grinned. Hanzo was…less than convinced.

But, as unexpected as it was, they were… _right._ It had been easy to accomplish, the girls distracting the archer with convivial gabbing about topics he had no interest in. After only about twenty minutes, Hanzo was peering at himself in the mirror, turning his head back and forth.

“What a _babe_ ,” Hana giggled, laid out on her stomach on the couch with her chin in her hands. “You totally don’t look like a geezer anymore.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Hana,” Hanzo replied dryly, running his fingertips over the stubble above his ears. He became so fixated on the unfamiliar texture that he’d nearly missed the comment Lena tossed to Hana at her handiwork.

“That’s the bees-knees, that is. When he sees it tonight, McCree’d be barking mad not to-“

Hana’s eyes widened and she quickly threw a pillow at the other girl. Hanzo slowly turned to eye the two of them with narrowed eyes. The lack of gray on either side of his gaze only made it look more severe, making Hana laugh nervously.

“Uh, what she _meant_ to say is that everyone’s gonna be into your new look. Even McCree.”

“Hana.”

“What? Oh, hey Lena! Weren’t you gonna show me how to tune up my mech?” She was quickly standing and _pushing_ the girl with the clippers towards the door. Lena looked confused, digging her heels into the carpet.

“ _Hana.”_

“But I gotta clean up-“

“Hanzo can do that!” she said quickly, waving her hand at him. “No big deal, no big deal! He’d _love_ to, right Hanzo?”

The archer, still incredibly suspicious, fixed them in a steady gaze but ultimately nodded. Hana shot him an impossibly wide smile and shoved the other young woman out the door. “Thanks, Hanners! Okaybyeseeyoulater!”

Hanzo chewed on his lower lip but set to gathering the hair from the floor. Whatever was going on, it was _not_ good. But, when he caught himself in the mirror again and felt a soft smile grace his lips, he sighed. He would just have to take his chances. He’d already stepped out of his comfort zone a few times…what was the harm in doing it again?

 

* * *

 

 

The lack of cigar smoke, the creaking of leather, and the jingling of spurs left a void in the halls of Watchpoint: Gibraltar for Hanzo. The cowboy, along with Angela, had been dispatched to the Yukon to pick up what Hanzo had been told was another scientist. He’d been absent for almost a week now, leaving behind an odd bit of silence that left the archer feeling anxious.

The fact that he was coming home _might_ have had something to do with why Hanzo had allowed his hair to be shaved. _Maybe._

It wasn’t like Hanzo was _waiting_ for him or anything. And it wasn’t as if he’d _missed_ him. They had barely shared the same space as one another since the Detroit mission, so what was there to miss? Besides, McCree had put out some not-so-subtle signals that indicated to Hanzo that he didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Second thoughts after the closet incident, he decided. It was fine. It was _fine._

So there was no reason for Hanzo to be the least bit suspicious when Hana had suggested he head to the kitchen. The base had become weirdly empty for that time of evening – there should have been more of a fuss coming from the mess hall, seeing as how it was close to dinner time. It was Reinhardt’s turn – the man was a force of nature when he was cooking.

But Hanzo was nearly knocked backwards from the _smell_ that wafted from the open archway down the hall. It was nothing like the spicy bratwurst or thick, meaty aroma of fried schnitzel.

This was… _familiar_. Hanzo’s mouth immediately watered and his stomach growled in a way it hadn’t done in ages. The savory scents of spring onions and daishi had Hanzo’s feet moving at double-time until he found himself staring within. He blinked once, twice, three times, unable to move from the doorframe.

There, in a modest white apron, hunched over a wooden cutting board, was McCree. He was working on chopping a thumb-sized piece of ginger, finding it a bit difficult to press the blade through the unforgiving strands beneath the chunk’s surface.

His hair had been bound back to keep it out of his face, though a few stray strands had come loose over his forehead and pressed there thanks to the steam billowing from a nearby pot. Hanzo could just barely see a pack of noodles sitting on the counter nearby – _udon_. Hanzo could smell the strong scent of curry mingling with the rest of it, and noted the small pot of flavorful brown sauce towards the back of the stovetop.

On the modest folding table, two bowls had been set out along with chopsticks and some sake cups.

There was…no one else there. Just the two of them.

“McCree…?”

The cowboy froze and then spun on his heel to face him. Bashfully, he put down the knife and rubbed his hands in the apron.

“Aw hell, darlin’. I didn’t think you’d be here this quick. I’m almost done, just lemme-“

He trailed off when he actually looked at Hanzo, his mouth hanging open as if it was waiting to form the next word. The archer felt uncomfortable under his gaze for a moment, but his confusion outweighed his urge to avert his eyes.

“What are you doing? What is going on?”

“…you cut your hair,” McCree said, sounding far off. When the soft smile tipped up at the corners of McCree’s mouth, Hanzo worried he was laughing at him. He frowned and stepped in a bit more.

“You did not answer my question.”

That seemed to snap McCree out of whatever stupor he was in, because he blinked and looked back to the set-up before them. He gestured widely with his prosthetic arm and grinned. Hanzo felt butterflies in his stomach. What the hell…?

“Thought I’d make dinner,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“…where is everyone else?” Hanzo asked, looking around while he walked further towards the table. Tonight, at Hana’s oddly insistent coaxing, he’d chosen to wear a simple gray _haori_ and matching _hakama_ instead of his typical _kyudo-gi_. It was far more comfortable but felt odd next to the gunslinger’s white apron and blue flannel. McCree didn’t seem to mind in the least. In fact, he seemed to be staring at Hanzo a bit more than normal.

“Well y’don’t typically invite other people on a _date_ , darlin’” McCree drawled with a laugh, opening the pack of _udon_ and tossing the noodles into the water. “I mean, unless it’s some kinda double thing. But this ain’t one of those.”

Hanzo was starting to doubt his own grasp on English. He fixed McCree with an utterly bewildered expression that had the cowboy laughing again. Hanzo wouldn’t admit it, but he had _missed_ the way it sounded when he’d been bereft of it.

“Quit thinkin’ so hard and just sit down, archer. Grub’s almost done.”

With his eyes still on McCree, Hanzo slid into a seat almost mechanically. He watched the cowboy move around the small kitchen with the same lack of finesse he seemed to carry over to anything but shooting. He whistled while he worked, sliding the ginger into a small bowl so he could use the cutting board for something else – some _kamaboko_ , a fish cake that had Hanzo guessing where McCree had gotten it from. McCree caught Hanzo watching and winked at him, making the archer melt a little inside. This was all…so _surreal._

“All right, sugar. Hope it’s to your likin’,” McCree said, carefully dishing a heaping pile of noodles into Hanzo’s bowl before his own. After taking the hint that he was to choose his own garnishes and toppings from the small bowls Jesse had brought over, the cowboy poured the flavorful broth over the concoction.

Hanzo couldn’t believe it.

“I uh…I made some curry too,” McCree said softly when he finally seated himself. “Just in case you…y’know…in case y’think it’s gross or somethin’.”

The archer was beside himself. His mouth opened and closed and then opened again as he looked down to the dish in front of him. It even _looked_ like something he’d eaten at home. The spring onions had been cut at some odd angles and the _kamaboko_ was a bit too thick, but apparently his stomach couldn’t tell the difference. It growled _loudly_ again, urging Hanzo to lift the chopsticks and bring a small portion of noodles to his lips.

It was _delicious_. Just the right amount of salty mixing with the slippery texture of the noodles that he’d come to love so much. He hadn’t realized just how _hungry_ he was, because before he knew it he was slurping with reckless abandon, making Jesse laugh loudly.

“Well, folks, I think he likes it!”

Realizing it was probably a bit rude to just be diving in like that, Hanzo swallowed and sat up a little, savoring the lingering taste on his tongue. McCree watched him with unending amusement before following suit, taking up some of his own noodles.

“…why?” Hanzo finally asked, his face scrunched up with perplexity. “Why did you make this?”

McCree paused and worked to finish chewing and swallowing the masticated noodles in his mouth before answering.

“I thought you’d like it. No shrimp – I remember you sayin’ y’don’t like ‘em. Plus, I made spaghetti before. Figured it couldn’ta been much harder than that.” McCree poured a small glass of sake for Hanzo before bringing the liquor to himself. Hanzo saw the bottle – it was the _expensive_ stuff. The stuff his father used to bring home. His eyes lingered on it but his expression stayed the same.

“I…no, I meant. _Why_ did you make this? For me?” he clarified, sounding a bit more strained. McCree blinked, setting down the bottle, but eventually settled into an easy smile.

“Well…I thought that woulda been obvious, darlin’. Y’weren’t acceptin’ my gifts, so a fella’s gotta do what a fella’s gotta do.”

Hanzo cocked his head to the side. “You mean you knew that you were putting them at my door?”

Now it was McCree’s turn to look confused. “’Course I did, darlin’.”

Hanzo floundered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by everything. “I thought it…I thought it had been a mistake.”

McCree’s eyes widened when he realized Hanzo was being serious. His entire demeanor softened, and soon he was reaching across the table to take the archer’s hand. When he rubbed his thumb over the skin, Hanzo felt strangely comforted. But more confused. His eyes must have shown it, because when he met McCree’s concerned eyes, the man sighed.

“I put notes on ‘em all, sugar. Didn’t you read ‘em?”

“Yes, but…” Hanzo started, using his free hand to reach inside his _haori_. When it came back out, it had several white pieces of paper that had been delicately folded into neat squares. The notes.

McCree broke out into a wide grin, squeezing Hanzo’s hand.

“You…you saved ‘em? You keep ‘em on you like that? Aw, _Hanzo_...”

“You did not put a name on these, McCree,” Hanzo grumbled, refusing to dignify the question. “They were just poems. Signed with your name, but not addressed to one.”

“Guess I thought it’d be obvious enough if I just left ‘em near your room,” McCree explained with a shrug, continuing to rub circles in the back of Hanzo’s hand. The archer, still unsure, looked from his face and then back to the notes.

“They were for _you_ , Hanzo,” Jesse confirmed again, catching his gaze again. “An’ _this_ was for you. All of it. Been tryin’ t’think of ways to get your attention for weeks now. An’ I meant what I said back in Detroit. Y’got me burnin’ up somethin’ _fierce_ , sugar. Can’t getcha out of my damn head.”

Hanzo’s face softened and he let the confused expression fall away into one of touched surprise. His heart was pounding in his chest like a damn jackhammer – he wouldn’t have been surprised if McCree could feel his pulse spike where he touched him. But he couldn’t make himself _speak_ , even though there were so many things he wanted to say. For once, McCree was patient. He just watched him while he processed everything, occasionally offering small smiles.

“…are you…are you _certain_?” Hanzo finally asked, almost too soft to hear. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears – broken and wavering. Jesse looked surprised at first. It probably wasn’t what he’d been expecting by a long shot. But when he brought Hanzo’s hand up to press his fingers to his lips, Hanzo knew what the answer was. But it definitely didn’t hurt when the cowboy smiled and spoke anyway.

“Sure as the foot of a mule.”

Hanzo didn’t know what to do. McCree’s confident smile, his honeyed words, and his genuine gesture of _thoughtfulness_ had Hanzo lightheaded. The elder Shimada brother, who always seemed to know what to say, was completely at a loss. He just watched McCree breathe against his knuckles, his lips pressed against them. But the cowboy took pity on him with a lopsided grin, eventually letting his hand drop.

“Y'don't have to say anythin' now. Jus' quit thinkin’ so much and eat. S’gonna get cold. I didn’t slave over a hot stove for _hours_ so this could go to waste.”

“You spent hours on this?” Hanzo asked. If McCree didn’t stop talking soon, Hanzo was sure he would melt through the floor.

“Nah,” McCree laughed, sipping his sake. Like a typical American, the sip soon turned into a full-on swig. The sake was gone in an instant and he was already pouring himself another glass. “Well, maybe. Only a _few_ hours. But most of it was herdin’ the others outta here so we could get some privacy.”

“How did you manage that?” Hanzo asked over a sip of sake. It burned in _just_ the right way, easing his speeding heart only a touch. A few more glasses and he’d be better. Or maybe a bottle. Or five.

“Had to bribe ‘em, of course. Pretty sure I sold my soul to one of ‘em somewhere in there. Only jokes on them – already belongs t’someone else.”

Hanzo choked on his sake at the cheesy line and McCree barked out a laugh. When he started to dig back into his food, Hanzo watched him with interest. If a stupid smile crossed his lips and stayed there, neither of them brought attention to it. Instead, they spoke in soft tones over their noodles, basking in each other’s company. Hanzo explained how slurping the noodles loudly was a sincere compliment to the chef, though he instantly regretted it when McCree decided to inhale his food as loudly as an airplane engine.

The sake worked its magic. Soon they were smiling. Then laughing. Then kissing. Then laughing some more.

Jesse had made a mess in the kitchen. They poured the leftover curry and rice into a Tupperware container, McCree grossly licking his fingers to get a rise out of Hanzo. They did the dishes together, leaning against each other as one rinsed and one dried. McCree occasionally stole kisses when Hanzo wasn’t paying attention. Hanzo occasionally bumped his hip.

When they were done, they retreated to the roof. McCree had snagged a bottle of whiskey from his room and two glasses, though they sat between them in disuse. Under the stars, they both drank from the bottle.

“You _really_ thought all that shit was for someone else?” McCree finally asked, Hanzo’s head resting on his shoulder. “Even the little arrow? Hell, that one shoulda been obvious.”

“I have never received gifts like that before,” Hanzo admitted, his cheeks comfortably ruddy by now. “A Shimada heir never wanted for anything. Genji and I were given things all the time, but…not like that. It was… _different._ ”

“Mm, but y’liked my notes,” McCree drawled, wiggling his eyebrows.

“They were funny.”

“Nah, you _liked_ them.” Hanzo got a pointed nudge, which caused him to sit up, catch the cowboy’s grin, and then flop back into his resting position. Jesse’s shoulder was incredibly comfortable – just the _right_ amount of give to rest his head on.

“Perhaps.”

They both sat like that, under the moon and stars, for a long while. Somewhere along the line, their fingers had intertwined and stayed that way. McCree continued to steal kisses when Hanzo wasn’t expecting it. Hanzo continued to sigh contentedly and let his eyes close.

When they were both yawning, they made their way back to McCree’s room. It was messy, but it was closer, and neither were in any position to leave the other one for a cold mattress of their own. They fumbled with their clothing and lazily kissed, tongues and lips slowly exploring each other. But eventually fell to the mattress in a heap, too tired for much else. Hanzo reveled in the feeling of another warm body beside him. It’d been a long time since he’d felt so calm. The alcohol warmed his belly in _just_ the right way, managing to feel even better when McCree ran his fingertips over the freshly shaven skin of his head.

“I like this,” he murmured. “This one of Hana’s ideas?”

“Mmn,” Hanzo hummed, tilting into his hand. “She said I should ‘get with this century’.”

“Well it’s nice. ‘Bout time that girl did somethin’ that wasn’t obnoxious for a change.” Hanzo chuckled lightly at that, earning a smile from McCree in the dark. The taller man yawned loudly and wrapped his arm around Hanzo with a grumbled ‘g’night.’ Hanzo hummed again and rested his hand on McCree’s chest, idly threading through his chest hair. They didn't need to discuss Detroit. They didn't need to discuss the dragons. They didn't need to discuss how things would change in the morning, or where they would go from there.

Together they slept, stuffed together on a mattress that was barely big enough for one. But for the first time in a long time, Hanzo had no nightmares. Instead, he dreamt of blue flannel and leather.

Hana and Genji clinked their champagne glasses together from where they hid around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. jeez. 15 fucking chapters. it took these fools 15 FUCKING CHAPTERS. 
> 
>  
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	16. We're Both on the Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: explicit sexual content in this chapter.  
> this chapter is literally nothing but emotions and sex. you have been warned. <3

McCree was alone in the bed when he woke up the next morning.

The small window above the bed shone down in a thin beam of sunlight to a pile of discarded laundry in the corner. Miscellaneous cigar butts and half-empty liquor bottles sat on top of the desk nearby. McCree’s pants had been flung unceremoniously over the chair by the door, belt and all. Everything normal. No sign of Hanzo.

But amidst the familiar scents of stale tobacco, leather and whiskey remnants, McCree became vaguely aware of another faint smell – a mix of ginger and tea. Fresh and spicy, but also a bit acidic. All right, so he hadn’t dreamt it. Jesse couldn’t blame his overactive imagination this time. That part was comforting, at least.

He blinked his eyes open just a sliver to stare up at the ceiling to get his bearings. There was a cold spot beside him that he was _sure_ had been filled with another body hours ago. An exploratory sweep of his hand over the cold sheets only confirmed his suspicions – no, Hanzo wasn’t crammed into some corner he couldn’t see. It wasn’t as if there was much room to hide anyway.

It was stupid to think he’d spend the night. McCree couldn’t believe he’d been that naïve.

He groaned loudly and brought both hands up to rub his eyes. He rolled to sit up, hissing when his bare feet hit the cold floor, and then reflexively went to reach for a whiskey bottle.

Out of his periphery, there was movement. It was fleeting and quiet, but it was there.

McCree stilled immediately when he noticed the gray blob that was Hanzo, bundled tightly in his _haori_. He was huddled into a corner, fast asleep, with his back pressed against the wall. His head had lolled forward and then to the side, hair falling over his face, his cheek against his shoulder. The creaking of the bed springs under McCree’s weight made the archer’s face scrunch up a little. McCree cringed when they creaked again and Hanzo mumbled a sound of irritation under his breath. _God_ he was fucking cute.

But…probably uncomfortable. That position would leave one hell of an ache in his neck if it was left like that.

Ignoring the way the butterflies in his stomach wound themselves up at the sight of him, McCree padded over and crouched at his side. With a gentle smile, he brushed the stray strands of hair away from his face and tucked them behind his ear. He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his temple, deeply inhaling everything that was just… _Hanzo_. Soap and loose tea leaves, with a hint of spring onions and ginger from the night before. The big goofy smile that formed on McCree’s face was practically involuntary at this point.

“All right, darlin’. Back t’bed with y-“

He wouldn’t get the chance to finish. It all happened too fast.

As soon as he’d slipped an arm under his legs to lift him, Hanzo had reacted. _Violently_. Jesse wasn’t _quite_ sure how it all went down. There had been a lot of spinning involved, he was sure. But all he knew _now_ was that he was very roughly pinned with his face to the wall, a hand jabbing into his spine, and his arm bent at a _very_ inconvenient angle. The culprit was a very pissed off and sleepy-looking archer, snarling words of Japanese through bared teeth at his back.

“M- _mornin’_ , hun! Didn’t mean t-to wake you! Jus’ thought y’looked a bit un _comfortable-!_ ” McCree attempted, occasionally yowling through his words when Hanzo increased the pressure on his arm. “As uh…as sexy as this is, darlin’, I _do_ happen to be pretty partial to that arm. Ang’ll be mighty pissed if I come back in askin’ for a do-over!”

Leave it to McCree to joke at a time like this.

Regardless, it seemed to do the trick. Hanzo’s eyes widened to the size of dinnerplates and he seemed to come back to reality, jerking away from McCree with his palms facing outward.

“Jesse…I am…I apologize,” he murmured, his voice still heavy from sleep. He was no longer focused on him – his eyes were on the floor. He looked horrified.

McCree just rolled his shoulders and turned, offering an easy smile.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. Ain’t the first time I been pinned to a wall like that. Kinda hopin’ it won’t be the last either, if y’catch my drift.” A joke to settle the tension. It didn’t work. Either it went right over Hanzo’s head or he wasn’t listening. He still had that same panicked expression, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Hey…c’mon now. You’re doin’ it again.” Jesse crossed the small space between them to take his chin between his thumb and crooked finger, tilting his face back until they were eye to eye. Hanzo was reluctant at first, but eventually allowed it, brown eyes staring into amber ones. “You’re thinkin’ too much. I’m fine. Really. Ol’ Jesse can handle a bit of manhandlin’, trust me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Hanzo didn’t quite buy it, but a chaste kiss to his lips had the expression on his face softening anyway. Unsatisfied, McCree caught his mouth in another, deeper kiss, tilting his head to try and steal Hanzo’s breath away. He didn’t quite make it that far. Hanzo pulled away and scrunched up his nose, eyeing McCree sideways.

“…you have morning breath,” he explained with a slight smirk, pushing McCree’s face away gently with the pads of his fingers.

“Aw come on! I like yours!”

“I believe we have already concluded that you are a strange man, Jesse McCree.” Hanzo began to move around the room, surveying the odds and ends. It was apparently not to his tastes, as he occasionally toed an old beer can or brushed off a bit of dust, rubbing it between his fingers. “…and also a pig.”

“Maid’s out of town,” McCree explained with a roll of his eyes. Then, more bashfully, “…and uh…I ain’t had company in a lil’ while. ‘Specially not good company. So…guess it could do with a bit of straightenin’ up.” He also hadn’t been expecting Hanzo to willingly come back to his room, but he wasn’t going to mention it.

The room was quiet while Hanzo inspected everything. McCree couldn’t help but feel like it was a visit from the health inspector. He shifted from foot to foot and blew out a sigh. The longer it went on, the more uncomfortable it felt. This was the part he’d been dreading. The reality beyond the rose-tinted glasses. The conversation about where they were; where they were going. Shit, why couldn’t they go back to the roof and pretend like this part didn’t exist?

“I enjoyed last night very much.”

Jesse exhaled a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Hanzo still hadn’t turned around, but he was letting his fingertips brush over a small clay lizard that sat in an empty spot near the window. It’d been a souvenir he’d picked up from a border town last time he’d gone through the desert. Most of the time it just took up space, but Hanzo’s attention seemed to bring it back to life. McCree smiled.

“Yeah…I did too. A lot.”

“I do not think it can happen again,” Hanzo said, his words rushed. Final.

Jesse’s heart sank. His mouth slowly closed until he was frowning, his brows drawing downward into a serious expression. He should have been prepared for this, shouldn’t he? He couldn’t have thought it was going to be all sunshine and daisies. Well, maybe he did. Or he’d been hoping it would, anyway.

“Mind if I ask why?” he finally asked, attempting to force the disappointment out of his voice. He failed. Miserably.

Hanzo turned and finally faced him, but kept his eyes to the floor. Jesse refused to look anywhere else. The archer was quiet for a moment, seeking out his words. It was more than a little obvious that he was unaccustomed to conversations like this. But McCree was in no mood to be patient. If he was going to step on his heart, he wanted it done _now_ and not when Hanzo felt like it.

“You gonna answer me, or am I-“

“I am _lost_ ,” he eventually blurted out, his hand curling into a fist. A shaky breath exited him. “…I am lost.”

Needless to say, McCree was confused. He had to take a step forward and cock his head to the side. Hanzo refused to meet his gaze no matter how much it called to him. He looked like he was about to cry, if that were even _possible_ for a man like Hanzo, and Jesse had to force his arms to remain at their sides to keep from enveloping him into a crushing hug.

“You are all good people,” Hanzo murmured, shaking his head. “And I thank you for how good you were to me last night. But…I am not good like you. I do not deserve that type of treatment. I do not merit your affection... I…gave up that chance a long time ago. And it would be unfair of me to claim I am worthy of it now.”

There was a pregnant pause after the heartfelt confession. McCree looked at him, expression unreadable, before he finally responded.

“That’s dumb.”

Hanzo jumped. He fixed McCree with an incredulous stare. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said that’s dumb,” McCree repeated, folding his arms. “I reckon that’s probably one’a the _dumbest_ answers to why a fella won’t be with another fella I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard some doozies, believe me.”

Hanzo gawped and sputtered like a fish. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be angry, hurt or confused. Luckily, McCree always was a talker. He didn’t leave him on the hook for long.

“Hanzo, I ain’t Mother fuckin’ Theresa over here,” he snorted, taking a cautious step forward. Hanzo was getting that ‘spooked horse’ look again, and the last thing he wanted was for the other man to bolt for the door. Then the conversation would be over and there really _wouldn’t_ be another chance at this.

“I done some bad shit. _Bad_ shit. Shit that by all accounts shoulda sent a lightning bolt straight down on my dumbass head. An’ trust me – I _know_ I did that shit. Think about it every damn day. Wake up with the eyes of the dead starin’ down at me. But y’know what?” He was in Hanzo’s space now, and decided to press his luck, as usual. As tenderly as he could manage, he grazed his thumb over the stubble on Hanzo’s head. Then his knuckles over his cheekbone. Then his fingertips across his jaw. The archer allowed it, even let his eyes close for a second to let himself enjoy it. Only encouraged, McCree kept going.

“…I also know that I’m doin’ my _damndest_ to make up for it. I don’t wanna be that person anymore. I wanna pull away from that station an’ go somewhere new. I wanna sink my boots into some green pasture an’ smell the fresh air for once instead of wallowin’ in the mud like I used to. And, shit, I also know _for_ a _fact_ that even I should take advantage of a good thing while I got it. There’s nobody on this earth that don’t deserve a lil’ bit of happiness, Han, even lost fellas like us. You an’ me ain’t that much different. We just…got on the train at different stations, that’s all.” He kissed his temple and rubbed his cheek into it. Hanzo leaned into him.

“We both got a long way to go,” he whispered, smiling. “An’ I ain’t about to give up if you don’t wanna either. So…let’s just…give it a shot, huh? I’m thinkin’ things can only go up from here. Worst case scenario, we both go down t’hell together. Think I’d be all right with that.”

McCree felt Hanzo wrap his arms around his shoulders, so he sank down a little to let him get a good grip. He buried his face in his neck and breathed, humming contentedly when Hanzo repeated the action.

They stood like that for a good while, Hanzo fisting his hands against McCree’s bare skin while McCree tapped kisses against the juncture of his throat and whispered comforting little nonsense words. Hanzo actually killed the mood first.

“…you should still go brush your teeth.” It was followed with a rough chuckle that McCree more felt than heard, but made him feel better anyway.

“Aw, you’re _killin’_ me, darlin’! An’ here I thought we were havin’ a moment. Can’t catch a damn break.”

Hanzo settled back to look at McCree for the first time in a little while, his eyes puffy. Yes, he had indeed been crying, though now that it was over, McCree’s immediate panic dissipated rather quickly. He used his thumb to brush away any stray wetness lingering there.

“Say…” he started, eager to change the subject. “…why were you all curled up over there like an armadillo? Did I push you out or somethin’?”

Hanzo shook his head, looking a little uncomfortable. “I…do not do well sleeping in beds. I am simply unaccustomed to spending the night lying in one.”

McCree whistled lowly. “Well that _is_ just a cryin’ shame. Gonna have to fix that right away, ain’t we?” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned broadly when Hanzo flushed a little. It was as if the archer was just now noticing that McCree was completely bare above the waist, for he took a step back at the comment. McCree wasn’t about to let that slide. He moved forward again and wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s waist, trailing kisses along his jaw and behind his ear.

“…still want me to go brush my teeth?” he purred, tugging on Hanzo’s earlobe to make the man squirm.

“Yes,” Hanzo said without hesitation, smirking at McCree’s crestfallen features. But Hanzo was still breathing a bit harder than he had a few seconds ago. _That_ was a bit of an ego boost.

“Just kickin’ my heart around the room, honey. Jus’ plain _mean._ ” With a hangdog look, McCree stepped away and went to retrieve his toiletries. Hanzo leaned against the doorframe, examining his nails. Back to the preening dragon prince that McCree had fallen for.

“…my room has its own bathroom,” Hanzo pointed out innocently. “…and it has its own shower.”

McCree perked and dropped his razor to the floor with a clatter. He smiled a little wider and went to retrieve it. If he were a dog, he was sure his tail would be going a mile a minute by now.

“That so?” he drawled.

“That so,” Hanzo repeated, managing a shrug. “I think Winston knew I would prefer privacy. It was a favorable choice, since there are no occupied rooms beside or across from me. Were there to be something _loud_ going on, I would not be bothered. Or vice versa.”

He dropped the statement like a pane of glass and pressed the button to let McCree’s door slide open. McCree just watched him like a deer in headlights, mind trying _desperately_ to catch up to what Hanzo was hinting at.

“Do uh…do I need to bring towels?” McCree asked stupidly, seeing Hanzo pause at the door to check down the hall. Still skittish about people seeing them. Knowing how quickly word spread around there, Jesse couldn’t really blame him. But he seemed satisfied and glided out into the corridor, tossing his answer over his shoulder as he moved.

“Hm, who knows? I do have some, should you require them, but it is my understanding that friction causes heat. So perhaps you won’t after all.”

Jesse had never gotten his shit together faster in his entire _life_. 

 

* * *

 

 

They never quite made it to the shower. Hanzo had, of course, forced them both to brush their teeth, but once Hanzo had started to peel his clothes off, McCree couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing the vast expanse of creamy skin before him was like ringing a dinner bell. Plus, thanks to the obnoxiously clinical lighting above the mirror, he could actually _see_ what he was doing for once. A hell of a lot better than that little closet they’d been stuck in.

“Aw _hell_ …” he breathed, hoisting Hanzo up onto the sink. This time the archer didn’t protest being lifted. In fact, he seemed rather amused with the change of position, and deemed it a suitable time to tease the cowboy for his eagerness.

“You had better not break my sink, cowboy,” he warned, shifting forward so the faucet wasn’t digging into his back.

“Oh honey, I don’t think you’ll mind much by the time I’m through with you,” he purred, slipping the palms of his hands down the back of Hanzo’s pants to knead him with both hands. He’d been dying to get his hands on that ass and _man_ if it wasn’t as perfect as he pictured it to be.

“Quite confident, aren’t we?” Hanzo smirked, though McCree’s touch already had him red in the face and licking his lips.

“Oh you better believe it,” he grinned, dipping his head to nip at his collarbone and further down. The way Hanzo was starting to look glassy-eyed was only proving his point. “Finally got you right where I want you. Plan on takin’ my time… _”_ He sank even lower now, his hands letting go of Hanzo’s cheeks to grip around his pectorals. His thumbs danced around the archer’s nipples, making Hanzo squirm and dig his fingers into the countertop.

“Findin’ out _exactly_ what you need…” His lips grazed the sensitive skin where his thumbs had been playing, watching interestedly as Hanzo started to chew on his lips and shudder. “…an’ then makin’ you _beg_ for it.”

All at once he wrapped his lips around one of Hanzo’s nipples and _sucked_ , earning a choked, startled moan from the man beneath his hands. Hanzo’s legs wrapped around what they could, his strong thighs clamping McCree in place. It didn’t matter though. There wasn’t any other place he wanted to be.

“You…you expect to make _me_ beg, cowboy?” Hanzo finally groaned, swallowing hard. “It will not be as easy as you think.”

Stubborn to the bone. McCree just lightly kneaded his nipple between his teeth in rebuke, which earned him another hissed gasp and shuddery moan. Hanzo was already panting, his cock straining against his dark briefs.

“Think I like my chances, sugar,” McCree murmured, leaving one last long lick to his chest before sliding to his knees. The look Hanzo gave him was priceless – going from surprised, to understanding to just plain aroused. McCree could tell it’d been a long time since the other man had gotten any – well, not like _his_ dry spell was any better, but it just made him all the more sensitive. _Good_. He’d wipe that smug smirk off his face and have him singing to high heaven.

He mouthed the other man through the cloth and felt him buck into the action. Hanzo was breathing hard but trying to hold back his sounds by biting the back of his hand. Oh no, no, _no._ That was simply not allowed.

“That’s cheatin’, baby,” McCree smirked, reaching up to take Hanzo’s hand away and press it back down into the counter. He followed suit with the other one for good measure. “You wanna play this game _right_ , you gotta _watch_ an’ let me hear whatever you gotta say…”    

With both hands occupied, McCree decided to take Hanzo’s waistband with his teeth to drag the garment downwards. Almost hypnotized by the action, Hanzo shifted to allow the fabric to slide all the way down without resistance, his eyes unfocused but unmoving from McCree, as instructed. The gunslinger decided that it was a _very_ good look on him. He’d make sure he got to see that look as much as possible.

But now wasn’t a time to think about the future. Not when his prize was _right there_.

His eyes going half-lidded, McCree started out with a long lick to the underside of the shaft, drawing his tongue _slowly_ over the sensitive skin. Hanzo shuddered beneath him, spreading his legs a little wider, his breath coming out in short gasps already. This was almost _too_ easy. Was he still watching? Of course he was. Well, it was high time to give him a show. It was the _least_ Jesse could do after all they’d been through that morning.

When he sucked in his tip, Hanzo was _beside_ himself. The strained moan that erupted out of him was completely involuntary, but was soon followed by desperate little whines when McCree’s tongue circled around it. He took his time, as he said he would, pressing the thickness of his tongue against any skin he could find. He experimented and drew Hanzo out, loving the way a simple change of pressure could force out another set of delicious sounds from the normally silent man.

By the time Jesse swallowed him to his hilt, the cowboy had forgotten all about challenges. He’d given Hanzo reign over his hands again, rumbling around him when the archer had buried his hand in his hair. Both thighs threatened to crush McCree between them, but the pleasant bump at the back of his throat had him in a world all to his own.

A sharp tug to his hair brought him back up for air.

“Bed,” Hanzo growled, out of breath and fucking _desperate._

“Oh…? Think you’re gonna have to ask ni-“

“ _Bed_ , Jesse,” Hanzo groaned impatiently, one of his hands trailing up and down over his own nipple like he had no idea he was doing it. McCree’s eyes trailed after it, fascinated, and soon he was standing and dragging Hanzo with him. Somewhere down the line he’d become just as impatient, and it only took a second for him to realize that, yeah, the bed sounded really fucking good right about then.

Hanzo made sure that the backs of McCree’s knees hit the bed first in between desperate kisses. The naked archer on top of him, sweaty and wanton, was a sight to behold as he practically ripped down his boxers.

“Easy, sweetheart, it ain’t goin’ anywhere…” McCree laughed breathlessly, though he soon trailed off into a low groan of his own when Hanzo’s fingertips traced over him.

“…you are huge,” he murmured. Then his eyes widened a bit more and his head cocked to the side. Curious fingers rolled over the small beads of metal that decorated the underside of McCree’s shaft, making the gunslinger shudder and curse. “…you are pierced?” Hanzo questioned, looking amused.

“I should- _fuck_!...I sh-should think that’d be o-obvious, sugar,” McCree groaned, attempting to distract himself by digging through his nearby toiletry bad for his stashed bottle of lube.

“What is the purpose?” Hanzo asked, this time wrapping his hand around McCree and beginning to stroke him. God, of _course_ he’d choose to ask him questions when doing a thing like that. Jesse dug his heels down and moaned loudly, eventually having to grab Hanzo’s arm by the wrist to stop him.

“Feels good,” was his short, grunted reply, his mind too out-of-whack to come up with something more articulate. Hanzo seemed entirely too pleased with himself, so McCree shoved the bottle of lube and a condom at him. He’d have to change that.

Between the two of them, they made quick work of preparing themselves. It took Hanzo a bit longer than necessary to take Jesse in comfortably, wincing every few inches or so, even after the gunslinger had made sure to stretch and tease him until he was whimpering. Both were slick with sweat at this point, and the room felt sweltering. McCree had severely underestimated his patience – Hanzo was _tight_ and looked so goddamn _perfect_ in his lap like that.

When he’d started to move, Hanzo stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I will do it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. McCree nodded and settled back, rubbing circles in his hips to try and ease him into it. After a few more minutes of adjusting, Hanzo began to rock gently. It was slow and tentative, the archer trying to figure out what worked best. _Logical_ , McCree thought with a grin. Of course it was – Hanzo didn’t do anything unless it was planned out and strategized. But this was… different. Anyone could have told him that. And it became all the more obvious when he began to look frustrated, his motions just _not_ quite hitting that high he was looking for.

But McCree, above all else, was a gentleman.

“Mm, mind if I give it a whirl, sug?” he asked eventually, delighting in the way Hanzo’s pupils dilated at the phrase. Breathing hard and licking his lips, Hanzo eventually nodded and shuddered.

McCree had him on his back in record time.

“Bring your hips up for me, honey. _Just_ like that…” Jesse instructed, slipping Hanzo’s calves over his shoulders. The archer was confused, but intrigued nonetheless, arching his back and adjusting wherever McCree told him to.

One sharp thrust later, and Hanzo finally understood what all the fuss was about.

_“Jesse-!”_ he cried, head tossing back into a pillow. “Ah- _ah! J-Jesse-!”_

“Mn, th-that’s it, sug…” Jesse encouraged, working into a brutal pace. “You feel so _fuckin’ good…”_

The piercings seemed to do the trick, too, as Hanzo got even louder when they grazed his insides, rolling against the sensitive flesh while they were dragged in and out. McCree pummeled that perfect little spot inside him with reckless abandon, zeroing in and grinding into it until Hanzo’s voice was breaking with every exclamation of his name.

It wasn’t long at that pace before McCree could feel Hanzo shuddering around him – bucking and jerking with a sensitivity that only came from impending orgasm. He bent down and caught his lover’s lips with a hard kiss, swallowing moan after moan until he let him up for air.

“C’mon, honey…” he breathed, slowing his pace down _just enough_ to make the archer whine and writhe with desire. “I told you what you have to do…I wanna hear it…” he coaxed, tongue dragging over any sensitive flesh he could find.

Hanzo was _gone_. Too gone to really give a shit about dignity. Too gone to really give a shit if anyone was within hearing distance.

“Please, Jesse…” he breathed, hands fisting in the pillow on either side of his head. “ _Please-!”_

It was more than enough.

McCree picked up the pace again with a loud groan, earning a keening cry of his name from Hanzo. It didn’t take long for either of them at that rate – Hanzo tensed and shuddered first, choking out a scream while thick white ropes landed over his stomach. McCree soon buried himself in to the hilt and let out his own shuddered curse, rocking into Hanzo a few more times to draw out those delectable sounds the archer made while he was oversensitive.

They fell into a pile of sated flesh in the midst of their afterglow. McCree used his discarded briefs to wipe Hanzo’s chest and stomach, an act that he would have normally turned his nose up at. But the archer was far too blissed out to care, nuzzling into McCree while the man whispered sweet nonsense into his ears. McCree leaned over, tied off the condom, and tossed it in the trash nearby before climbing back in beside him.

“Think I mighta changed your mind about beds…?” McCree smiled, positioning the two of them until they were slotted against each other, naked as they day they were born. Hanzo hummed thoughtfully, eyes already closed while a gargantuan yawn escaped him.

“Perhaps,” he muttered, already drifting off. “Though I am not so sure just yet. I might need some more… _persuasion_ to change my opinion.”

“Well, you drive a hard bargain but I think I can make that happen,” McCree laughed into his hair. After a thoughtful moment, he looked down at the man beneath him and grinned. “I won, y’know.”

Hanzo wasn’t listening. He only let out a hum of agreement before he snuggled in closer, earning a triumphant smile from the cowboy above. It would probably be the one and only time he’d ever win an argument against Hanzo fuckin’ Shimada, and damn it he would take it. With a happy smile on his face, McCree dozed off as well, surrounded by a mix of scents that was steadily becoming his favorite.

Ginger, soap, loose tea – the perfume of a dragon.

Neither of them noticed they’d left the hot water running in the shower.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys liked it. i know they did. wink wonk. 
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	17. "Thinking like that's gonna get you killed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in the update, guys!
> 
> as i said on my tumblr, a friend of the family was diagnosed with cancer the day before yesterday. i've been running around, making food, helping my mom, etc. 
> 
> but i made this chapter into a BEAST to make it up to you. almost three times as long as the normal one. i hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> as always, lemme know. kudos and comments are appreciated.

_It was 0600 when Reyes finally boarded. On time, as usual, though looking severely pissed off and tired. More so than usual, anyway, Jesse amended._

_The Blackhawk-style helicopter that would be their transport was already packed with ammunition and three other team members, Jesse and Gabe excluded. Information gathered from willing and ‘not-so-willing’ sources had led them to set out for Dorado in an effort to contain illegal tech trafficking throughout Mexico. A few targets were chosen. A few tasks needed completing. It would be quick and quiet_. _Nothing out of the ordinary for a group of men and women who had to go over six or seven black ops mission files before breakfast._

_Still though, even a hardened team knew when to avoid Gabe. A fight with Jack usually did the trick._

_He settled in beside Jesse while the blades of the copter began firing up above them. McCree had been cleaning Peacekeeper silently, not even bothering to look up when he felt the familiar weight and smelled the old stink of those cheap cigarettes he always had._

_But Jesse always was the bold one of the group. The one who never knew what was good for him._

_“Bad day there, Boss?” he drawled over the rumble of the helicopter. Gabe grunted and muttered some choice words in Spanish under his breath, bringing up his tablet to once again go over details. He was always going over details. McCree was pretty sure he did it in his sleep._

_“Can the shit, kid. Not in the mood for pleasantries.”_

_“Are you ever?” McCree chuckled, rolling the toothpick he had nestled against his cheek to the other side. No smoking in the chopper – Boss’s orders. The little jab earned him another grumble, but the taller man in the black beanie didn’t feel inclined to rise to his bait. Which was odd. Normally Gabe would have thought nothing of smacking him over the back of the head or tearing him apart with that silver tongue of his._

_But Jesse wasn’t that stupid. If Gabe didn’t want to divulge, he sure as hell wasn’t fucking going to. No amount of pushing or wheedling would make that egg crack. It was part of the reason why he was so good at doing what he did. Why they all followed him. Why Jesse was where he was._

_“No one ever looks out for anyone but themselves, kid,” Gabe finally muttered, taking Jesse by surprise. “Make sure you remember that.”_

_Jesse paused, looked to Reyes and then back to his gun. He listened to the whirl of the helicopter blades, the roar of the air moving quickly on either side of them, the muffled tapping sounds of Gabe’s fingers against the tablet. When Jesse looked back, he watched the stiff, intimidating countenance of the man next to him as he unwaveringly stared into the piece of tech in front of him, eyes searching for answers while his mind was someplace else._

_“Well…not everyone,” Jesse finally said, offering just the hint of a smile. “Y’didn’t have to give some punk kid like me a chance. But y’did. An’ hell you’re still givin’ me chances all the time.” When he was met with more silence, he took it as a good sign. Decided to press his luck to see what would happen._

_“Shit, look, I know you an’ Jack have been-“_

_“ **Everyone**_ **,** _McCree,” Gabe suddenly growled, spinning to face him and slam his big fist down on the arm rest between them. Jesse immediately shut up and sat at attention, cleaning his gun forgotten. The three other agents crammed in the back looked up but then quickly turned their heads. They knew better._

_“I pulled your mangy ass out of that shithole because I needed a good shot. Just like those fuckers in DC pulled me and Jack up by our bootstraps because they needed muscle and a pretty face to do their work for them. No one fucking gives a shit about anyone else. Do yourself a favor and lose the boy scout routine.”_

_He went back to the tablet and left Jesse to slowly regain his composure. The young Blackwatch cowboy adjusted his hat over his eyes a bit more and cast them downward. He didn’t look back up until he heard a deep, gravelly sigh and saw Gabe relax, the tablet disappearing. The scars marring his face flexed and stretched as he rolled his jaw._

_Jesse didn’t even try to hide his surprise when Gabriel cupped his hand up in front of his face to light a bent white cigarette. Things must have been really bad for him to break his own protocol._

_“…you’re too good, McCree,” he said, staring far off. “You trust too much. It’s actually impressive. Most men who go through the kind of shit we have lose that pretty damn quick. But you have to lose it, kid. You can’t be like that here. Doing what we do. Trust like that is a luxury we just don’t have.”_

_“Oh, but you expect me to trust you?” McCree griped back under his breath. He was pissed now, being given life lessons like he was still just a kid. Pissed McCree could hold his tongue even less than regular McCree._

_“I expect you to trust that I know what I’m doing,” Gabe said, exhaling a plume of smoke that was immediately sucked out of the open side door. “That’s different. Trusting in a man’s abilities is different than trusting in_ him. _So, to answer your question: no, I don’t. I expect you to trust your instincts. And I expect you to trust in the predictability of man.”_

_“The hell does that mean?” McCree asked, obviously frustrated. “Don’t be gettin’ all philosophical on me, Boss. You know that shit makes no damn sense to me.”_

_“What it means,” Gabriel cut in, taking the cigarette from between his lips to look at it appraisingly. “is that everyone is always going to do what benefits them the most. It’s called survival. Mankind’s evolved, but we aren’t so high up that we don’t still claw at each other’s ankles to get higher. Anyone who says any differently is full of shit.”_

_“Not sure you really believe that,” McCree said softly, shaking his head. “Pretty sure I don’t either.”_

_Gabriel eyed him sideways, letting his head loll against the headrest a little so he could meet his gaze._

_“Well then good luck out there, kid,” he said after a second, twisting the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “Because thinking like that’s going to get you killed.”_

* * *

 

 

Things moved forward slowly after Winston was done analyzing what he could from Detroit. Mei’s help greatly increased efficiency, but it was still a slow uphill battle. Dead-end leads and red herrings plagued the investigation the entire way, causing more setbacks than actual progress. His one and only inkling _had_ seemed to pay off, however, and the search for large amounts of missing medical equipment led him to someplace he hadn’t been expecting – the front doors of the Vishkar corporation.

It actually made perfect sense once he started digging.

Once Lucio’s uprising in Rio had taken place, it would only be natural for them to liquidate their assets to focus on damage control. The events had been much more than just a simple fly in the ointment for them – they had been under investigation and heavily sanctioned. Not being used to such attention, it was quite possible that they had panicked and dumped anything and everything that could have been considered less-than-savory before it could have been discovered by the authorities. Well, not so much _dumped_ and more like… _gave it away_.

And who better to give it to than someone who wanted it kept quiet as much as they did? Although no one knew where it rightfully came from, Talon had proven time and time again that they had the type of funds that could bail Vishkar out if given something in return. Vishkar would keep their dealings with the terrorist organization a secret from the press. Talon would keep their dealings with the company a secret as well, so long as Vishkar continued to provide them with materials and a thick blanket of security for them to work beneath. It was a win-win.

If Winston was right, this was damn dangerous. But it was still all just _speculation_. None of them could move forward until there was evidence to present. All he had now were a few murky memos and some irregular inventory logs. Not even Athena could bust through the security at Vishkar without raising a few eyebrows. They needed more.

Missions started rolling in after that. The existing omniums were obviously good starting points – McCree’s theory about the production of omnics for testing purposes had merit. And based on what he’d seen, it was worth a look. Thanks to rumors of illegal tech trading in several other locations scattered around the globe, the team suddenly found themselves busy. _Very_ busy.

 Australia came first. Even though the omnium had been destroyed and the area irradiated beyond recognition, it was argued that the necessary materials to create an omnic were possibly still in existence. When Tracer, Winston, and Genji had arrived, all they’d found were Junkers – dirty scavengers that seemed intent on hoarding as much metal as possible and tossing glass bottles at the new ‘intruders.’ If anything _had_ been there leftover from Talon, the Junkers had already hauled it off for scrap. Their search came up short, but Winston deployed a drone to scout the area anyway. Just in case.

Nigeria came next. With it being so relatively close to the city of Numbani, it was the most promising of the three omniums. The city had resources and plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in if they were looking to do something ‘less than legal’. Plus, omnics were considered as close to equals as possible there. If one or two went missing, it might be looked into, but it wouldn’t cause a downright panic like it would elsewhere. Lucio, Pharah, McCree and Hanzo took the trip, deploying several of Athena’s drones to remain in the area as they searched.

The warehouses near the omnium were yawning and empty…but McCree noticed tire tracks. Tables. Crates filled with bottled water and broken glass along back corridors. Hanzo, with his sharp eyes and attention to detail, found discarded shreds of abandoned medical records, mostly burned, but still containing the Talon logo as a watermark stuffed in abandoned wastebaskets. Booted footprints. Unused syringes. Shrapnel from gunfire and the heavy scent of bleach.  

They’d been there…but they’d left. Everything had been packed up in a hurry like they’d known they were coming. To any untrained eye, it’d just look like the warehouse had been home to squatters or drug-addicts. To the members of Overwatch, it was another failed attempt to find answers.

Thoroughly despondent, the two teams returned to Gibraltar to reconcile with each other, along with the other agents running solo missions to the smaller, less important sights. No one returned with anything of any importance, but all came back with footage.

They didn’t notice the black-hooded figure that trailed behind them like a shadow until about the third mission or so. Then they went back and reviewed the rest. Sure enough, there he was, black as pitch and _watching._ In every. Single. One.

He appeared off to the side in most cases, wafting in and out of focus like a ghost. He’d been there in Australia, meandering between the crazed Junkers or crouched beside a crumbling wall. Leaning against the ship while the three Overwatch members scouted. And he’d been there in Nigeria, watching from a high balcony in the warehouse. Arms folded while McCree walked past him. Following Hanzo as he turned corners or checked blind spots. By the end, he was even practically peering over Tracer’s shoulder, his chest to her back. She didn’t even flinch.

Everyone denied seeing a tall dark figure with claws for hands, stalking them.  

It unnerved everyone to say the least. Had them all spooked. How had he known they were there? How did they not see him?

It was a Blackwatch tactic, McCree had supplied. Reaper had _wanted_ them to see. He’d _wanted_ them to know he was there. He couldn’t explain everything, like how he did it, but he could explain _why_.

“Fear fucks with a man,” he’d said. “Gabe used t’say that. You get a man good an’ scared, he’s bound to screw up somewhere. An’ I don’t know about y’all, but knowin’ my enemy was close enough to touch me? Yeah, that gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“The heebie-jeebies?” Hanzo had asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah – y’know. Chills. Goosebumps.” He narrowed his eyes at the man and smirked. “Don’t you make fun of me, now.”

Hanzo shrugged his shoulders innocently and held back a smile of his own. McCree stared at him a bit longer, fondly, before turning back to the briefing. Hanzo rested his leg against his under the table. They played footsie like grade schoolers, the archer careful not to crush McCree’s toes.

Winston decided that there was something they just weren’t catching. Until further notice, team groups would be larger than previous ones. Four or five members at the very minimum, all of whom would go through strict medical evaluations prior to departure and all of whom would be armed to the teeth. They wouldn’t be able to cover as wide of a spread as they had in missions prior, but he wasn’t about to risk anyone’s safety when they were so soon out of the gate.

No one opposed the new rules. Whether they admitted it or not, all of them could be seen glancing over their shoulder as they walked down the halls.

A soothing balm to their nerves came in the form of Zenyatta’s arrival. The silvery omnic floated down the ramp of the aircraft with his hands on his knees, his orbs floating like planets around his neck. Genji had been more than excited to reunite with his master. He’d dragged the omnic all over the base, crowing praises to anyone who would listen. Most were genuinely pacified by Zenyatta’s presence. Hanzo was… _less_ than excited for the introduction.

“Ah, the brother I have heard so much about,” the omnic began, extending a hand to Hanzo. The archer took a step backwards and refused the gesture until Zenyatta resumed his former position. “I have looked forward to meeting you.”

“So _you_ are the one I can blame for these… _changes_ in my brother,” Hanzo commented icily, earning a shake of the head from Genji.

“Please forgive him, Master.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Zenyatta responded calmly, placing a hand on Genji’s shoulder. “The path towards peace and enlightenment is different for all of us. I sense the same rage that I once sensed in you, my student.” He turned back to Hanzo and tilted his head, extending a glowing orb of harmony towards him. “I want to help you, Hanzo. In time, I hope you will consider me a frien-“

“We are _nothing_ alike. Do not attempt to poison _my_ mind with the same sort of absurdity you have inflicted upon Genji. It will _not_ work,” Hanzo growled, before pushing between the two and storming down the hall. Genji looked to his master, who simply nodded and squeezed his shoulder a bit harder. Genji turned back to see the way Hanzo had gone sadly, placing his hand over his master’s.

 

* * *

 

 

McCree met with Hanzo most nights. And most days. And really any chance he got.

Though the change in their relationship had not gone unnoticed, no one really seemed too keen on bringing it up. The constant missions had them all too distracted to focus on how much time the two agents were spending together, which was perfectly fine with them. And with Angela and Fareeha already something of an item, the idea of two more agents dating was old-hat.

The only time the two agents _weren’t_ together was when Hana decided she wanted Hanzo’s attention. Which was more often than McCree liked. Whether it was a long bout of video games or getting him to do chores for her, Hana seemed to always sense the best time to strike to leave Jesse the most irritated. Hanzo thought it was amusing. The gunslinger…not so much.

When not out on the field or distracted by Hana, the two comfortably dwelled in the bubble they’d created around themselves. When McCree could convince Hanzo to stay in bed, they’d lounge around until the early afternoon, sharing each other’s space. Otherwise the archer would ply McCree with breakfast and prod the other man into training with him. This would usually end with the two making out in some corner of the spacious shooting range, their weapons tossed to the side and momentarily forgotten.

Jesse loved the way Hanzo burned bright red at the corniest of pick-up lines. Hanzo loved the way McCree never expected him to flirt back. Together they tested the other’s boundaries. Learned about each other. McCree liked Mexican food, for example.

So Hanzo learned how to make beans and rice to surprise him. They’d made love twice that night. And once again in the morning.

Gifts were never in short supply despite Hanzo’s insistence that they weren’t necessary. McCree had been deeply bothered by the lack of ornamentation to Hanzo’s dorm and had sought immediately to rectify it. A miniature carved horse that McCree had kept in a box in his closet joined the paper dragon on Hanzo’s dresser. Then a vase for some flowers – _anything_ but orange lilies. McCree always had a new bouquet whenever the first one wilted. A true romantic. Hanzo rolled his eyes and snorted, made snide comments and joked at McCree’s expense, but inside he jumped for joy. How he’d gotten so lucky he’d never understand. McCree thought the same thing most of the time.

Missions, however, were all business. Hanzo and McCree’s skills complimented each other whenever they ran into conflict – the archer playing protector to the man with the gun on the ground. With Talon playing hide and seek, they hadn’t run into much since Hanzo’s indoctrination into Overwatch. A few thugs playing gangster in Dorado, some thieves in Nigeria who saw an easy score – enough to give everyone a taste of what Hanzo could do when dragons weren’t involved. Respect came easily, and soon he was their main eye in the sky, scouting out rooftops and rafters.

The final mission in their omnium crusade centered around Siberia. Winston had been the most reluctant to send anyone out there given the constant upheaval in the area, but knew the necessity for it. Knowing that Katya Volskaya, CEO of Volskaya industries, had almost been assassinated by Talon only a few months prior, it was a safe bet that Talon had some sort of presence there. With the technological advancements that the company had made in anti-omnic security, any warehouse or storage facility would make prime targets. If they managed to get passed the weather-beaten soldiers and their mechs, that is.

Winston volunteered to stay behind, as did Torbjorn. _‘Not enough drink in the world to make up for chunks of ice in the gears,’_ he’d said grumpily, waving his hand. It was also understood that he was working on a new project – something heavy, with lots of firepower. Something he kept tightly covered and completely hush-hush. Excited to see it finished, no one complained about his decision. Torbjorn’s projects were always something to behold, and if he was keeping a tight lid on this one, it was probably a masterpiece.

Just the complete opposite, Reinhardt was itching to get back out on the field during a major operation. His armor, which had been heavily maintained by Torbjorn since the recall, was out and waiting to feel the thrill of battle over the skin of its master once again. Angela was not too keen on the idea, but she was eventually overruled by the ‘ _C’mooon, Angie!’_ argument. She could never win against that one, especially when it came from six directions at once. With a boisterous laugh and a few dramatic poses, Reinhardt was off to pack his things, feeling thirty years younger. He blasted Hasselhoff in his room until Winston was forced to instill a noise curfew policy.

The rest of the team fell in to their respective duties. Lena tended to the ship, preparing it for the severely cold climate. Fareeha slapped a new coat of paint on her suit while Angela packed a few extra med kits and did minor maintenance on her Caduceus staff. Lucio tinkered with his Sonic Amplifier in the safety of the airship hangar, testing it out the open door. Hana had been more than impressed as she laid under the hood of her mech with a wrench.

“Sound travels farther in cold air,” Lucio explained, hopping from one foot to the other to test the comfort in his skates. “Faster in warm air. You gotta make adjustments depending on the temperature. Plus, timing’s everything when you gotta blast a dude with noise or heal your friends with it. I could be _completely_ thrown off my game if I get hit with a sudden gust. Trust me, that _sucks._ ” He sighed heavily and looked to the ceiling, letting his arms hang. “Man, I am so _not_ looking forward to shaking snow out of my hair…”

“At least it’s something,” Hana replied absently, a smear of grease on her cheek. “I don’t know about you, but I get totally antsy if I have to just sit around like this.”

“…Hana, I _just_ watched you play like ten rounds of Streetfighter against Hanzo the other day. With no breaks.”

“Hey, that’s _different_!” she whined, puffing her cheeks. “I’ll have you know that requires a lot of…mental exercise! Plus I’m training him!”

“Yeah _o-kay._ ”

“I mean it!” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her chest. “He is my young Padawan, and I, his Jedi master.”

“How is it you know about Star Wars but I had to explain who _Superman_ is?”

“Uh, because Star Wars had like a ton of great games? Name one good game about Superman. _One._ ”

“…uh, well… _Superman_ is…he doesn’t _need_ … _ugh_. I can’t even deal with you right now.” He rolled his eyes and laughed, running his hand over his face.

“Only because you know I’m _right._ ” Hana jabbed her wrench at him with a grin. “Everyone knows you haven’t truly made it until someone makes a game about you.”

“So…where’s your game?” Lucio smirked.

“Hey, I’m only 19. My story’s just beginning,” she replied with a shrug, tightening a loose screw. “ _You_ on the other hand…”

 “I’m only 26!” he yelled indignantly, making her laugh. Unable to keep a straight face, he eventually broke down too. They didn’t stop laughing until Lena popped her head in to call them to the conference room.

 

* * *

 

 

Winston broke down the mission parameters with the team that afternoon. Not being used to so many involved participants, the conference room was a little more cramped than usual. Genji took his usual spot near the door, Zenyatta floating peacefully at his side. Torbjorn and Reinhardt took their places near the back of the table, the larger man taking advantage of the extra legroom. Angela and Fareeha sat to the left, with McCree and Hanzo across from them. If Hanzo noticed the narrowed eyes Angela occasionally shot between he and McCree, he ignored it. He was too busy ignoring Genji and Zenyatta to do much glancing around anyway. Though his mood was momentarily uplifted when McCree reached under the table to take his hand. Damn distracting cowboy.

This mission would be nothing but reconnaissance – Winston beat them over the heads with that right off the bat. Talk to the locals, explore the surrounding area, get as close to the omnium as possible. They had no reason to believe that Talon was still there or had ever _been_ there, but it was a loose end that needed tying up. The news outlets had their cameras pointed on the Siberian omnium thanks to the spike in activity there, so there was another matter of avoiding publicity. They had to keep their heads low and their presence brief. In and out – quick but thorough.

They even had a contact this time – a natural born hero for the Russian Defense Forces.

“ _Aleksandra Zaryanova!?”_ Mei squealed from her seat when the black and white picture of the woman appeared on the screen, her face breaking into a wide grin.

“Uh, well she instructed me to call her ‘Zarya’ for short, but…yes. You know her?” Winston asked with a blink.

“Do I _know_ her? She’s amazing! She can lift 512kg! That’s more than _any other woman_ ’s record to date!”

“Since when do you care about weightlifting?” Fareeha idly asked, her chin resting in her hand as she tossed Mei a smirk. “I don’t remember you being into it before.”

“Oh…well…” Mei deflated a little, blushing in embarrassment. “I uh…being alone so long…gives you a lot of time to read…”

“Hey now, leave ‘er alone,” McCree chided, reaching across Angela to thwap Fareeha on the arm. “Don’t you listen to these buzzards, honey. I like ‘em with a little meat on their bones too.” He followed it with a wink and a tip of his hat, which made Hanzo’s eyes roll so hard it was a wonder they didn’t spin off into the atmosphere. Mei just went bright crimson and turned all of her attention to cleaning the fog from her glasses with a cloth.

“ _As I was saying-“_ Winston growled, rapping his fingertips against the table in frustration. “Zarya will meet you at the Siberian front and escort you around the area she and the RDF are stationed. It’s about two clicks outside the omnium proper, but far enough in that you’ll be able to see and hear anyone or anything that comes in or leaves.”

“What about Reaper?” Lucio asked, voicing the silent concern that was floating around the room.

“…my hope is that with all of the added people around, he won’t appear. But seeing as how he hasn’t made direct contact yet and has _some_ way of avoiding Athena’s detection system, I’m…not sure there’s much we can do. But, just in case, I’m asking that Agent Hanzo detach from the group once you land to act as lookout. Report _anything_ out of the ordinary and maintain constant contact with the main team. One stealth unit should be all we need, and it’ll be easier for him to stay out of sight so you don’t tip anyone off.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” McCree asked, frowning. “You tore me a new one when I split off, if I remember correctly.”

“I _hardly_ think that constituted ‘tearing you a new one’, McCree,” Winston replied. “And the differences between _that_ situation and _this_ one could fill a novel. For starters, you’re going to be surrounded by soldiers. _Russian_ soldiers, not Talon agents. And you aren’t going in undercover. You can bring your preferred weapons, gear – all of it. There’ll be much more of an advantage there.”

“Yeah but…” McCree balked.

“I can handle myself, Je- _McCree,”_ Hanzo finally said sternly, pulling both arms up to fold them. “I have done it before and I will continue to do so. I do _not_ need you to defend me.”

“Well, I know that, Han, but I still-“

“Then it is settled. I will take the lookout position and _you_ will remain with the rest of the team,” Hanzo growled and narrowed his eyes at him, leaving no room for argument. McCree stared at him, wide-eyed, before his jaw slowly closed and tensed. He turned his attention back to the table, his expression much darker than it had before.

“Uh, well…good, I guess,” Winston finally said. “The rest of you will pay close attention to the Svyatogor units, look for any oddities in inventory, any weird anomalies. Take detailed photos, get the ins and outs from RDF members. You’ll only need to be there a day or two, max, unless something unexpected happens. ”

“And why can’t we just have the RDF send us this information?” Angela asked politely. “It sounds like we might just be wasting resources by going when all they would need to do is send us a few files.”

“Several reasons,” Winston said, holding up a finger. “But the _main_ one being that we still don’t know _how_ Talon is becoming aware of our mission targets. There’s a chance they have something imbedded in Athena’s software somewhere – it’s part of the reason why I need to stay put. It’s _highly_ unlikely, but I’d rather be cautious. If they _do_ , chances are they’ll be able to see anything coming or going. Having Russia send us information of any kind would just be handing them a cheat code for how to find us and sabotage us. So its best if everything we do in regards to this investigation is done as manually as possible. Stick to paper and pencil for any notes you take down. I’ve also fitted your kits with vintage-style cameras. Just a precaution, but necessary until I figure this out.”

 He stopped to gather his thoughts, then moved to rest both palms on the top of the table. When he looked up again, his focus was on the omnic monk near the door.

“Zenyatta, it has unfortunately been requested that we not include omnics within our team. It has come to my attention that the members of Zarya’s team voiced some serious opposition to the idea. I was… _reluctant_ to agree to the terms, but given the circumstances…”

“It is fine, Winston. I understand completely,” Zenyatta droned, holding up a hand. “Although it deeply saddens me that omnics and humanity still cannot rise above their differences, I realize that sometimes the best course of action is the path of least resistance. I will remain here, to focus on personal reflection and to pray for your safe return.”

“And what about me?” Genji asked, sounding offended on behalf of his master. “I am not an omnic, but to their eyes I might as well be one.”

“We’ll…cross that bridge when we come to it,” Winston sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I _need_ you there, Genji. There’s a lot about this I don’t trust. I want as many eyes on this as possible, even if they don’t all like it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Winston, the Orca is almost done with ‘er patches,” Lena cut in, giving a thumb up. “Just gotta rig up a better heatin’ system and she’ll be right as rain.”

“The weather will be clearing up in that area in about two days too,” Mei added. “A cold front will be just moving out and further south. It won’t be warm by any standards, but we won’t be in the middle of a blizzard. It won’t last long, though.”

“Two days, then,” Winston said. “That’s two days to pack up as much warm clothing as you can. Two days to familiarize yourselves with the travel route and the type of tech you’ll be looking for. I’ve also taken the liberty of updating some of the training scenarios downstairs to include icy and snowy conditions. I _suggest_ you all make an appearance down there.”

Everyone uttered a drab _‘yes, dad’_ and scooted away from the table. Hanzo was first out the door, not bothering to spare McCree a second glance. The cowboy was hot on his trail, but the people in front of him pushing their way out the door blocked him from catching up. By the time he had freed himself and got a chance to look down the hallway, the archer was gone.

“Leave him be,” Genji murmured softly, putting a hand on his arm. “I made the mistake of suggesting he speak with Zenyatta privately this morning. My hope was that he could experience the same benefit I have…but it…did not go over well. He has been irate ever since.”

“That don’t excuse actin’ like a horse’s ass…” McCree commented, pulling a face. “I’m just worried about him, is all. Gonna be in a strange place with strange people. I reckon Hanzo bouncin’ around all by his lonesome while ‘Señor Smoke Machine’ is out and about might not be the best idea.”

“Hanzo has been alone for a very long time, McCree,” Genji shrugged. “And has taken care of himself quite well, for the most part. I am certain he can manage himself. He would not accept this solo position if he felt it was beyond his control in any way.”

McCree just grumbled in resignation and stuck his thumbs through his belt loops. But eventually he agreed that maybe rushing off to corner Hanzo so they could talk about this _might_ not be the best option. So, he let it go. He didn’t like it one bit, but he let it go. And eventually things went back to normal. A bit tense at first, but normal. They ate dinner across from each other, trading small talk and harmless flirting. Hanzo went back to McCree’s room that night as if nothing had happened and curled up against him. The cowboy didn’t bring up the conference room. Being nearly forty, he’d learned when to pick his battles. He just tried not to think about what could happen as he wrapped his arm around the archer. _His_ archer.

Hanzo _would_ probably be fine…wouldn’t he? Why couldn’t he just say yes?

 

* * *

 

 

“Is that _all_ you packed?”

“Yes? Winston instructed we pack warm clothing.”

“Han…that’s a damn turtleneck.”

Hanzo glanced down at himself from where he was sitting beside McCree on the Orca, pulling at the fabric in question. He actually thought it was too stifling and longed for his _kyudo-gi_. How was he supposed to pull back his bowstring with full range of motion in this sort of garment?

“I borrowed it from Genji,” he said. “What is wrong with it?”

“Why the…why the hell does Genji have a turtleneck?” McCree asked with a bit of a laugh, slapping his forehead. “Whatever. I don’t think I wanna know. But that still ain’t gonna be warm enough, darlin’. You’re gonna freeze your ass off out there. You want my serape?”

“I can manage myself, thank you.” The way Hanzo squared his jaw and folded his arms told McCree all he needed to know. The cowboy wouldn’t get far with this conversation – it would just be a repeat of the briefing. McCree just growled and cursed under his breath.

“I’ll remember you said that when I’m pullin’ your ass out of a snowdrift, archer.”

Things had gotten even more tense between the two since the mission briefing. McCree, despite telling himself over and over that nothing would happen, had worked himself into a worried mess. It was completely unfounded, of course. Hanzo was a warrior first and foremost. He could take down a herd of buffalo by himself without batting an eyelash. And, had this situation occurred a few months earlier, McCree would have been perfectly fine turning a blind eye to Hanzo’s decision to go out alone. But now? Now he couldn’t help but picture Hanzo tumbling off the side of a building, or getting caught in a crossfire with no chance of defense, or any _number_ of awful scenarios that his mind could cook up.

What only made things worse was that Hanzo seemed anything but sympathetic to his plight. Any attempt to discuss Jesse’s worries were met with staunch resistance or downright flippancy. The archer was completely unwilling to admit that he might need help with _anything –_ he was always the strong one. Always the one who worked best alone. Which, of course, infuriated McCree to no end.

They’d been quietly fighting since the conference room, though neither admitted it.

The rest of the team knew, though, and made sure to keep their distance. The last thing _anyone_ needed was a full-scale brawl between teammates before they even had a chance to land. Instead, they let it fill the cabin like the elephant in the room that it was, turning their attention to other topics. _Anything_ other than the sizzling silence that passed between the archer and the cowboy. They’d even resorted to listening to Reinhardt talk about old television shows. _Knight Rider_ sounded absolutely ridiculous, but even hearing about a sassy talking car was preferable to the alternative.

The first thing that greeted them when the ramp came down was a shrill rush of cold wind. Mei had been right – there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the temperature gauges all reported a frigid -6 degrees Celsius. McCree couldn’t help but cast Hanzo a smug look, expecting shivering or chattering teeth, but blinked in surprise when the archer barreled through the cold anyway, his ribbon whipping around at his back. _Stubborn ass._

“Ah, Overwatch! _Rada tebya videt'!_ Welcome, welcome!” came a booming voice from outside, a broad figure extending their arms before placing them on their hips. A shock of pink hair blazed from the head of the woman, and all at once Mei was rushing out to shake her hand.

“Oh my gosh! This is so exciting! I’m Mei!” she gushed, hopping up and down. Zarya boomed a laugh and saluted the small climatologist. Even Reinhardt seemed impressed by the sheer size of the woman in front of him, eyeing her formidable biceps appraisingly. Genji, not looking forward to dealing with these soldiers or their prejudices, remained with Lena on the ship. It probably wasn’t what Winston had originally devised for him, but seeing the way two soldiers kicked around an empty tin can and laughed had him even more reserved than usual. Lena didn’t mind – she was happy for the company.

“It is good to finally meet you all. We have heard much about the heroes of Overwatch. My men have many questions! Come, come, there is much to see!” Zarya gestured forward to the cracked doorway of a large aircraft hangar, her heavy scarf billowing out beside her. Mei, thoroughly awed, adjusted the pack on her shoulders and stepped past, Snowball floating at her shoulder with a chitter. It was hard to tell if the rosy tinge to her cheeks was from the cold or…something else.

McCree stepped up to follow the rest before pausing, just barely catching a glimpse of Hanzo climbing a frozen drainpipe. Damn fool _was_ going to freeze, too foolhardy to admit that he needed a damn jacket.

“Keep that com on, Shimada,” he grumbled. He got a simple grunt in return that made his blood boil.  Focus on the mission, McCree. Keep your head in the game. Try not to think of the angry Japanese popsicle you’re bound to find when it’s all over.

The warehouse was nearly twice as big as the ones in Detroit, and nearly three times as big as the main hall back at the base. Tall and imposing Svyatogor units stood stalwart in a long row along the left-hand wall, playing silent guardians to the smaller men and women who buzzed about at their feet. Zarya occasionally barked orders to her comrades in Russian, earning the occasional middle finger or garbled response. Zarya was larger than life in more ways than one, and it was no wonder why Winston had chosen her for their contact.

“Things have been quiet since the storm passed,” she began, gesturing at the unused mech walkers. “The omnium has not spoken for a few days. But we remain strong. Always strong! No omnic will take _us_ by surprise while we man the front!”

“These things make yours look like a peashooter, D.Va,” Lucio whistled lowly. The girl just shrugged, popping her chewing gum loudly to keep from shivering.

“Size isn’t everything,” she said airily.

“Winston informed you of why we are here?” Mercy asked, always remaining on task.

“ _Da,_ I will help. I have not seen Talon scum here, but if it will help Volskaya, my men and I are at your disposal.” Zarya beamed a bright grin and Mei made a soft sighing sound. Pharah elbowed her lightly but smiled all the same.

“We will need to look around, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Mercy said. She then turned to the others, back straight and voice commanding. “McCree, Pharah, please go and check the Svyatogor units and catalogue any discrepancies. Lucio, D.Va, please speak with the men. Find out if anyone has seen anything they would deem out of the ordinary. Mei, Reinhardt and I will go with Zarya to go over any inventory logs or paperwork.”

“Fuckin’ _hate_ recon missions…” McCree grumbled, chewing on his cigar.

“Yeah, yeah, we _all_ do. Now _move_ it, pony boy, you heard the lady. We’re on the clock.” Pharah nudged him with the butt of her rocket launcher and earned a disgruntled huff in response. The cowboy took one last look out the crack in the large hangar door before heading over to the wall of mechs. _Great_. There had to have been fifty of the damn things. McCree chomped down on his cigar and sighed.

“Do you actually know what we’re supposed to be looking for?” Pharah asked quietly, glancing up under the beastly mech.

“Can’t say I do for sure, darlin’,” he drawled, climbing up on the side to the top of the thing’s leg. These things were _massive_. This was going to take hours. “But I think we’ll know it when we see it.” He paused and placed a finger to his ear, hopping back down. “How you doin’ out there, archer?”

 _“Do you insist upon bothering me during this entire mission, McCree? I am **fine.** ” _snapped Hanzo. McCree almost delighted in the way he could hear the shiver in his voice, but then immediately felt guilty.

“Aw, come on, honey. How else am I gonna hear that pretty voice of yours?”

 _“You two want to keep the chattering to a minimum?”_ Winston piped in, sighing heavily. _“How are things going?”_

“Just got here, Winston, give us a break,” McCree snorted, tapping the large foot of a mech with his boot.

“What the rude cowboy _means_ to say is that all is clear so far,” Pharah chimed in, shooting a glare to Jesse. “Zarya said no one has reported any Talon interference since the attack on Volskaya, and the omnium itself has been pretty quiet. Mercy is in with her now, looking over paperwork with Mei and Reinhardt. Maybe we got here before they had a chance to swoop in?”

 _“Maybe,”_ he commented thoughtfully. _“Though that wouldn’t really fit the pattern we’ve been seeing. Unless they hit a major snag somewhere in whatever plan they’ve got in the works, though I think something big enough to derail them like that would be pretty obvious. We would have seen it or heard about it.”_

“Shoulda brought my damn harmonica…” McCree groused under his breath, dusting off his shoulder. He ignored the way some of the hardened Russian soldiers eyed him up and down and did their best John Wayne impersonations, walking back and forth bow-legged. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it by now. He just took a longer drag on his cigar and moved on to the next mech, using his metal hand to check for hollow spots like he knew what he was doing.

_“Anything unusual outside, Agent Shimada?”_

_“N-negative,”_ he replied. McCree could just picture him rubbing his arms over himself and buckling down to stay warm. If he hadn’t been such a dummy and taken his serape, he wouldn’t be having these issues. Served him right.

 _“Keep me posted,”_ Winston eventually said. _“I’ll check back in within the hour. If anyone comes across anything, you know where I’ll be.”_

“Leerin’ into your monitor, waitin’ for us to call you, I reckon,” McCree smirked. Pharah kicked a rock at him.

 _“Funny,”_ Winston muttered, clearly unimpressed. _“Winston out.”_ The background noise from Gibraltar cut out, which meant Winston had indeed left them to their own devices for the time being. McCree just looked proud of himself as he kept looking around for nothing in the dim light of the hangar, Pharah muttering something about the ‘forty-year old baby’ under her breath.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour came and went. McCree couldn’t tell one Svyatogor from the next, and all of them were beginning to blur together by the time they got through what had to be the tenth one. Winston occasionally checked in, hopeful for some kind of answers, but always disappointed when they came up empty. He wasn’t the only one. They were _Overwatch_ for fuck’s sake, not security inspectors. They needed to be busting up the bad guys, not roaming around some robot warehouse in the middle of nowhere. McCree was damn irritated and no one else was faring much better.

At least he’d had the privilege of hearing Winston _order_ Hanzo to get a blanket. It wasn’t often that the scientist did so, but when he did, it was hard to refuse him. As hardheaded as he was, Hanzo still understood military hierarchy well enough. The muttered Japanese curses breathed into the com were music to his ears. He’d never let him hear the end of this one.

“Hey, McCree. Look at this…”

Pharah was a few mechs down from him, brushing something on the side of one with her fingers. When McCree moved to her side and looked over her shoulder, he knitted his brows in confusion.

A small white skull sticker had been slapped, cock-eyed, onto the leg of one of the mechs. It was new, too – the rest of the paint was worn and weather beaten. But this was fresh. Hard to tell if it had even seen the light of day yet. It was hexagonal in shape with wide black eyes. It was both familiar and incredibly out of place. 

“Didn’t we see one of those in the report we lifted from the Volskaya attack?” Pharah asked, turning to look at him. McCree shrugged, taking the butt of his cigar from his lip to twirl it thoughtfully.

“Could just be some kinda decoration, darlin’. Look at these guys – half of ‘em got mohawks an’ tattoos an’ shit.”

“No, I remember this,” she insisted, tapping it. She hurriedly stood and moved to the one beside it, looking all over until making a victorious noise. “See? Here’s another. I _swear_ it’s the same one from that report. Get Lucio or Hana. See if any of the soldiers remember seeing-“

A sudden burst of light and a deep reverberation beneath her fingertips had her recoiling and jumping back. Creeping up from the ground, thin tendrils of purple began to trace up the nicked metal of the Svyatogor, spreading like a virus. The soldiers, who had only been amused bystanders at this point, all turned and began shouting in angry Russian, reaching for their weapons. The unmanned mech, an embodiment of pure wartime firepower, began to slowly lumber forward on its own. McCree’s jaw snapped down so hard, his cigar broke in half.

“The hell did you do, Pharah?!” McCree barked, quickly removing Peacekeeper from its holster as he bounced backwards.

“I didn’t do _shit_ , cowboy! That thing just did it on its own!”

“It _can’t_ do it on its own!” he yelled, watching as the walker stomped forward and slammed a large metal arm into the ground hard enough to dent the concrete beneath. The whole building shook and the metal beast immediately began taking gunfire from the men behind. “It’s a fuckin’ _manned suit!”_

“Well unless a damn ghost decided to go for a joyride, I don’t see anyone in the fucking cockpit!”  Pharah yelled back, her boots igniting to send her into the air. It was too close to initiate her rocket launcher. They were _indoors_ , so any spray would result in friendly fire. The most she could do was hope to distract it. Which was working, for the moment.

The Svyatogor swiped at the air in her direction, the sound of metal scraping against metal and the crushing of stone beneath its feet echoing against the tall walls of the warehouse. McCree fired at any weak spot he _thought_ it might have – the joints, the head, the air intake valves – but the thing was too big. The bullets bounced off like wayward mosquitoes and zinged in other directions as it punched the air wildly.

It was Zarya who made the first effective blow.

The huge woman barked out laughter as she fired blast after blast from a gigantic pulse cannon slung to her side. The enormous metal suit leaned back with each hit, a sharp metal dent taking shape in its torso each time a beam of energy slammed into it. Mercy and Mei ran out close behind. Mei shot at its feet with her endothermic blaster, but the suit’s feet quickly broke the ice around it into thick shards. It only slowed it down for a second.

“I can’t get a fuckin’ shot off!” McCree growled into the com, pausing to reload. “Thing’s hide is too damn thick!”

 _“Team: status!”_ Winston roared. _“What’s going on? Talk to me!”_

“It’s a Svyatogor!” Mercy yelled, ducking when the walker blasted a hole into the wall behind the crew with a titanic arm cannon. Rubble fell from the ceiling and littered what was left of the room. The men who were unlucky enough to be too close covered their ears and shouted, the sound of the explosion deafening. Mercy whipped around to Hana and Lucio, both of whom were busy firing with the rest of the squadron. “Get everyone else _out of here_!”

“No mechanical monster is match for me!” Zarya laughed, unleashing a barrage of energy blasts that sent the suit falling backwards ungracefully into a pile of its brethren. Reinhardt saw the opportunity he needed and launched himself full-speed at the giant, battling with it and blocking blows with his great shield. This gave Zarya enough time to quickly reload and lob Russian curses in its direction, earning various whoops and hollers from her soldiers.

 _“It’s being remote piloted!”_ Winston bellowed into the com. “ _I’m trying to shut it down, but Athena is having a hard time pinpointing the signal!”_

“Hey, archer! _Might_ be a good time to get in here!” McCree snarled. “We could use some long-distance support right about now!”

Nothing. Not even a grunt or hiss of annoyance.

“ _Fuck!_ Hanzo, where the fuck are you!? Get your ass in here!”

Still nothing. Only static.

“McCree! Watch it!” Mercy yelled, sweeping in suddenly to push him out of the way of some falling debris. They both rolled to the side just in time to avoid a heavy forearm crashing into the ground to brace the machine falling.

“ _Hah hah!_ Is that the _best_ you can do?” Reinhardt shouted, slamming his heavy hammer down into the walker’s back. The metal tore and bent under the force, but the strange purple energy coursing through it continued to keep it moving. Ungainly, it stood once again and shot devastating blasts around it, clearly losing its ability to target properly. One lucky shot caught Reinhardt in the chest, rocketing the man backwards until his back hit a pile of crates and slid downwards. He groaned low in his chest, running his hands along the blackened tear in his armor.

“On my way, old man!” Lucio said, slipping up the side of a wall around the Svyatogor. When the thing got too close, Lucio hit it with a sound blast and dodged it, before turning up the volume on his healing waves at Reinhardt’s side. “Let’s get you healed up.”

“I feel like a young man again!” Reinhardt laughed, though his voice held a bit less strength than before. He’d likely had the wind knocked out of him. “Let me up! I still have plenty of fight left in me!”

“Take it easy!” Lucio laughed a little, pressing his fingertips to his ear. “Hey Winston…uh, anytime you wanna shut that thing off is fine by us!”

 _“Almost there!”_ Winston snapped in reply. The Svyatogor was back at the mercy of Zarya’s pulse blasts, though it had steadily encroached to the center of the room. Hana had successfully urged most of the soldiers outside and into the snow, but the majority still continued to fire through the open doorway with rifles and machine guns. Not only did the team have to avoid two tons of steel barreling towards them, they also had to avoid bullet spray.

Genji fell down from the ceiling with his sword poised downward, piercing the thick metal shell near the thing’s artificial throat. It spurted oil and sparked electricity as it fought to dislodge him, but its joints prevented its arms from reaching back that far. The ninja rode it like a bucking bronco and swiped again and again with his sword, slicing chunks of glass and metal into heaps on the ground.

_“Got it!”_

**_“Signal: neutralized.”_ ** Athena crooned into the com. The others watched as the streams of purple slowly dissipated from the huge robot’s skin, leaving a heavily damaged, but very still husk behind. Unbalanced, the walker wobbled, tipped, and then crashed down into the floor with enough force to bounce everyone into the air a few inches. Genji, ever graceful, leapt to the floor and landed in a crouch before sheathing his sword and righting himself. Everyone else was in different states of disarray, staring at the inanimate object in shock.

Everyone took a few seconds to breathe heavily. Pharah landed beside McCree and Mercy with a few scrapes to her suit, but otherwise relatively unharmed.

“What the actual _fuck,_ ” McCree breathed, standing and dusting himself off. “I mean _seriously_. _What the actual **fuck**_ **.** ”

“Is everyone all right?” Mercy asked, looking around. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Rein took a tumble, but he’ll live,” Lucio piped up, waving from the opposite corner. Reinhardt groaned again when he slowly stood, his heavy arm around the smaller man’s shoulders.

 _“Everyone all right in there?_ ” Lena asked in the com, worry coloring her voice.

“Where’s Hanzo?” McCree snarled, glancing around. “He out there with you?”

“ _Uh, no…_ ” Lena said, sounding confused. _“I thought he had gone in with you…?”_

“Shit,” he cursed. “ _Shit **shit.**_ ”

**_“Sensors indicate Agent Shimada is still on the premises, Agent McCree. His com has been shut off for roughly twenty minutes.”_ **

“That’s about when all this started,” Mei said quietly in the background, frowning deeply.

“Convenient,” Mercy commented, narrowing her eyes.

As if being summoned, Hanzo dropped in through a hole in the ceiling, unscathed, to land beside his brother. He surveyed the damage and eyed his teammates, taking in their angry glares one by one.

“It would appear I missed something,” he said stiffly.

“A clever observation,” Mercy hissed, moving towards him to poke him in the chest with an elegantly manicured finger. “Why was your com off?”

“Where _were_ you, Hanzo?” McCree asked.

“I was attacked from behind,” he said gruffly, pushing Mercy’s hand away. “I apologize. The blow must have knocked my com loose.”

“Who was it, Brother?” Genji asked, tilting his head. “Who attacked you?”

“I did not see them clearly,” Hanzo replied vaguely. “I am sorry.”

When he turned his head to look down at the floor, McCree knew it for sure – he was lying. And badly. It made the cowboy glower and shake his head.

“Friends! You are strong allies in battle!” Zarya laughed, slapping Lucio hard on the back as she approached. The poor man lurched forward and sputtered a cough. “I am proud to call you comrades! Reinhardt, you must teach me that charging technique!”

“A classic is always a classic for a reason!” he laughed back, his armor clinking as he flexed. Thanks to Lucio’s music, he was feeling better already.

 _“Gather what you can and get back here,”_ Winston sighed. _“Grab any scraps from the Svyatogor you can, get any statements from the soldiers or witnesses. Take your time, be thorough. I’m having Athena analyze the signal we cut off as best she can. We can talk about it when you guys return.”_

Everyone stared Hanzo down as they began to break up again, Mercy shaking her head and throwing up her hands. Hana and Mei just looked disappointed, going back to Zarya to explain that they had to leave. Lucio helped Reinhardt limp along, a joint in his armor mangled beyond repair. Genji met Hanzo’s eyes for a second and gave him a jerky, silent nod before making his way back to the ship and away from the judgmental eyes around him.

“You’re full of shit,” McCree eventually hissed at him when the others were far enough away, gaining a sharp stare from the archer. Hanzo said nothing, curling his lip. “First you wouldn’t let me worry about you, then you wouldn’t let us help you, and now you won’t even tell your _team_ the real reason why your com was off?”

“I _did_ tell you the real-“

“Bull _shit,_ ” McCree growled again. “We share the same bed, Han. I _know_ when you’re lyin’.”

“Drop it, McCree,” Hanzo snapped, narrowing his eyes to deadly points.

“I ain’t _gonna_ drop it!” McCree raised his voice. “We _needed_ you in here and you were _gone!_ I thought somethin’ _bad_ might’ve happened to you! I was fuckin’ _worried!”_

“I do not _need_ your worry,” Hanzo hissed from between his teeth. “I am no burden, McCree. I am sorry I was not here to aid today, but the reason _why_ is none of your concern!”

“…do you really not trust me that much?” Jesse asked, removing his hat to press it to his chest. He smiled imploringly to Hanzo, bringing a gloved hand to his face to stroke his cheek. “Please, Han. We’re in this together…remember?”

 Hanzo looked shocked, his face going pale. He looked into McCree’s face, searching for something. Or trying to _decide_ something. Eventually that expression faded into shame, and he turned his eyes away to push his way past McCree at the shoulder. McCree just watched the spot on the floor where he had been, feeling his heart rip into small pieces.

The ride back home was silent. Hanzo sat alone.

Winston agreed the debrief could wait while everyone recovered. McCree and Hanzo slept in separate rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	18. Back to Hanamura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will begin this by saying i am in no way a scientist who knows how bombs or energy works. ty. 
> 
> the next few chapters might be a bit slow in coming out. well, slow for me anyway. just trying to get my bearings since we're coming to the big papa plotline. i dont wanna rush anything out for the sake of rushing it out, so it'll require a little more thinking. just a heads up. :]
> 
> lemme know what you think, yadda yadda. :v

The briefing took place on Sunday. Angela had been speaking with Winston in hushed, forceful tones before Hanzo had walked in. She stopped when she saw him. Everyone stared and went silent, but made a point to go back to what they were doing. _Innocently_. The archer didn’t sit down. He leaned against the doorframe, one leg and one leg out, arms folded. He stared at the floor.

Jesse was quiet too, but was at least making an effort not to mope even though his chest felt like it’d been cut with glass. He’d drowned his sorrows in half a bottle of cheap whiskey the night before, grateful beyond measure for his ability to forego hangovers. It was the only way he could sleep without Hanzo by his side, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t waited for that sharp knock on his door in the middle of the night.

Their eyes were magnets of opposite polarity. When one looked in the other’s direction, they looked away.

“So. How’s everyone feeling?” Winston started, full of false cheer. Completely aware of the awkward tension that slithered throughout the group, it earned a few light chuckles. Reinhardt had to hold back his usual booming laugh thanks to a deep bruise to his ribs that had him smarting.

“Well, I’ll cut to the chase,” he said, tapping the tablet. “I’m glad everyone made it back safe and sound, but we don’t have a lot of time to waste on relaxation. Whatever happened in Russia is just the beginning.”

He moved out of the way to turn everyone’s focus on the large holovid screen. Immediately, the image of a big purple skull flashed up and filled it, the jaws opening with a horrific, cartoonish laugh before closing with a flicker. It repeated over and over, filling the room with a hazy purple glow.

“ _This_ is what we received when we looked into the signal that was remote accessing the Svyatogor,” he said with a curled lip repulsed by the image.

“McCree and I saw that on the side of two of the mechs,” Fareeha said, frowning. “The one that attacked us included.”

“Those two mechs were not listed on the inventory sheets when we compared them afterwards,” Mei said. “No one we spoke to actually knew where they’d come from. Their serial numbers had been fabricated.”

“This skull is the calling card of a notorious hacker – the same one that was implicated in the Volskaya attack. She goes by ‘Sombra’. Not sure if she even _has_ a real name anymore,” he said. With a few clicks on the tablet, a mugshot was produced of a snarky looking Hispanic girl with side swept purple hair. She glared into the camera with narrowed eyes and dark eyeliner. “Easily one of the best in the world. Overwatch became aware of her when we were investigating the Los Muertos gang in Dorado back in the day, though she wasn’t going by the alias back then. She went into hiding for some time after we put focus on her, why we’re not sure, and re-emerged under the name when she fell in with Talon. It’s our understanding that she’s been working primarily in the background; major cyber-attacks, threats, anti-security measures. That is, until…”

“Until the attack on Volskaya,” Angela finished, tapping her manicured nails on the tabletop.

“Correct,” Winston confirmed, adjusting his spectacles. “After reviewing some of the footage from Volskaya, it looks like she’s fitted herself with some sort of cybernetic graft and is now working as a field agent. Her graft…it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. But, check out what it can do – “

He pushed play on a blurry piece of footage, the camera looking out from the ceiling downwards onto the warehouse floor. Black-booted Russian agents with guns poised fell prey effortlessly to a familiar, sweeping black-hooded figure beneath, guns blazing.  Volskaya security teams moved in to try and subdue him, distracted. A purple flash from the immediate left drew the camera’s focus, and there was Sombra, surging her way up a wall and onto a platform. She moved like a trained acrobat, hopping up onto metal outcroppings, towards the elevator that held Katya Volskaya – their prime target.

“Watch,” Winston said, arms folded.

From her left hand, a beam of purple light flowed like veins into the inanimate moving platform in front of her. It sucked in the energy like a sponge and glowed like an amethyst in the sun. With a hop, Sombra was zooming upwards, the platform obeying her command and aiding in her ascent.

 _“Woah…”_ Lucio breathed, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Yeah,” Winston agreed, pausing the footage. “This was one of the only cameras that wasn’t blown out by the shut down to the security system, and it’s only because it was so antiquated that everyone forgot it was even there. With that graft, Sombra managed to take down the turrets, disable 99% of the cameras, open the doors, _and_ ascend five floors to reach her target in a matter of seconds.”

“Same purple shit we saw on the suit,” McCree grunted. “So, I’m guessin’ we know where it came from now.”

“Well, yes and no,” Winston hedged, shutting off the screen. “After a _ton_ of sifting through code and bypassing encryptions, we were able to find what _looked_ like an origin. The signal that made it to the mech was bounced around from system to system all over the globe so that we’d have trouble finding it – Korea, Turkey, LA. Eventually we ended up here, and all the bouncing stopped.”

The holographic globe that tranquilly spun in the front of the room flipped, and a red dot appeared with a flashing marker blinking above.

_Hanamura._

“Oh, god _damn_ it,” McCree exclaimed, tossing his hat against the table. “Is there anyone on the fuckin’ planet that _ain’t_ involved in this Talon shit? First Vishkar, then Volskaya, now…what, the _yakuza_?”

“To be fair, Volskaya has been nothing but a victim as far as I can tell,” Winston offered. “ _And_ we’ve suspected the remaining members of the Shimada-gumi of participating in illegal tech trading for some time now. We just really haven’t had sufficient evidence to go after them with much force, even with Genji keeping close tabs. Now it looks like we were on the right track after all. We just had to wait.”

“This seems a bit…complicated,” Genji said softly. “They are not stupid by any means, but long-distance hacking is a bit out of their league.”

“I agree,” Hanzo said from the door. McCree looked at him for the first time in days and felt his chest clench. “When I was directly involved, our primary focus was weapon and drug trading, not espionage and cybercrime.”

“Up until recently, I would have agreed with you,” Winston said. “ _However_ , after finding out that the signal was coming from there, I had Athena run a general scan of all the systems in the area. On a hunch.”

He pushed a few buttons and the globe zoomed in – first on the Asian continent, then on the cluster of islands that made up Japan, and then on Hanamura. Dots all over the area glowed and hummed faintly in blue.

“This is a general estimation of their energy usage as of last month. Pretty average for a population of their size, considering there are some areas that are purely traditional and don’t utilize as much as others. And this… _this_ is the general estimation of their energy usage as of last _week-“_

The once faint blue dots exploded into light towards the center of the city, fanning outwards. Those who were near to it had to turn their heads to avoid the bright light, and even Hanzo had to squint a bit towards the back.

“ _Something_ is using almost three times as much power as the entire _city_ put together,” Winston said, turning off the map. “And what’s even more interesting is that it’s not _going_ anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Lena asked, confused. “Should it be goin’ somewhere?”

“Well, think about it. They call it _energy consumption_ for a reason. Normally that’s exactly what it is – it gets drawn in, used up, and then more energy gets used up behind it. But _this_ …this is being gathered, sure, but it’s just _sitting_ there. And it’s a _tremendous_ amount. If this sort of thing was released in the state that it’s in, it could wipe out a major city. Which means either they are having one _hell_ of a LAN party, or…”

“…or it’s a bomb,” McCree breathed, eyes wide. “…Talon’s got a fuckin’ energy _bomb_.”

“And the _yakuza_ are probably smuggling in parts for them,” Winston added. “ _And_ housing their hacker.”

“But why?” Genji asked, shaking his head. “Why do something so risky when it is completely against their traditional business model?”

“Their numbers are dwindling,” Hanzo supplied, his shoulders falling with a sigh. “Other clans are encroaching upon their territory. They are losing strength. It is not unlikely that they were simply offered a dangerous but lucrative offer that they could not refuse. Talon probably saw them as a cheap alternative to traditional smugglers. And they were desperate enough to accept whatever deal was thrown on the table so long as they could throw their hat in with a force like Talon. Joining them would bolster their power significantly.”

Angela made a pointed snort in his direction and Hanzo’s eyes momentarily flicked to her, but he ultimately did nothing. When his eyes met McCree’s though, he suddenly decided that he was sick of talking and folded his arms again. McCree felt a whine bubble up in his throat but swallowed it down.

“Sombra being in on all of this would explain how they were able to track our movements,” Winston added. “I’m having Athena run a thorough overhaul of _everything._ Coms, tablets, security systems. For future missions, we’re going to have to rely on the backup coms and the older tablets that we were keeping in storage. It’s not ideal, but if it means we won’t have a repeat of Russia, I’m a fan.”

“Yeah, no joke.” Lucio huffed a laugh and winked at Hana who covered her laugh with her hand.

“Did this have anything to do with why they kept picking omniums?” Mei asked. “To get parts? Steal energy?”

“I’m not sure,” Winston admitted. “It’s possible.”

“Nah…that was somethin’ else,” McCree growled under his breath. “They had _people_ there. Needles and chemicals. Guys in lab coats. Don’t need no human guinea pig to build a damn bomb like that. That was…that was somethin’ _else.”_

“I’m sending you guys out again in four days,” Winston continued. “That should be enough time to get transport, finalize our plan, scrape together any assets we can, and get a handle on things. We have to locate this bomb, wherever it is, neutralize it, intercept Sombra and capture her. Once we do that, Talon will be back in the dark with the rest of us.”

“How do you intend we do _that_?” Torbjorn asked incredulously from the other end of the table, bringing his fist down. “We have _no_ idea what this is supposed to look like, and even if we did, there’s no telling if it’ll still _be_ there when we start looking! That wraith is still out and about, not to mention Lacroix. Plus, who’s to say that little skull brat isn’t listening in right now?”

 ** _“I took the liberty of disabling any and all signals coming or going from the base upon the discovery of the Hanamura signal, Agent Torbjorn.”_ ** Athena chimed in.

“Aw, no _wonder_ my handheld wasn’t working. Gee, thanks _Athena,”_ Hana grumbled, slumping in her seat. “There goes my PvP record.” 

“If we avoid using anything that communicates a signal, we shouldn’t have to worry about Reaper or Widowmaker knowing our location. In theory. But you _are_ right about one thing, Torbjorn. If we landed anywhere near there, they’d move it – no question,” Winston said. “Which is why _we_ won’t be landing in Hanamura.”

“That…that makes no sense, Winston,” Lucio laughed. “Like, _no_ sense.”

Winston rolled his eyes and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “We’ve got to look at this from a different angle. Sombra has been tracking _us._ Overwatch. So, we don’t _go_ as Overwatch. We take public transportation, we lay low. Different code names, unregistered equipment, burner phones.”

“ _Okay_ , but if we do that, won’t we lose the ability to track where that energy is built up?” Hana asked.

“Not if the Shimada-gumi takes us where they’re keeping it,” Winston said with a smirk.

“Again…no sense, Winston,” Lucio snorted, rolling his eyes.

He stopped and raised his eyes until they fell upon Hanzo. The rest of the group followed suit until Hanzo stood and frowned in confusion.

“Everyone,” Winston said with a sweeping gesture. “Meet Reo Shinoda – _kaikei_ for the Yamamoto-gumi and grandson of Kenichi Shinoda, their _oyabun._ He’ll be meeting with a _kaikei_ from the Shimada-gumi to discuss joining their two organizations since his grandfather is in jail. And, naturally, as an act of good faith, he’ll want to see all their major investments and assets so that his grandfather can make a proper decision. With the Yamamoto-gumi being one of the largest clans in the country, they’ll be tripping over themselves to make this work.”

“ _No,_ ” Angela immediately stood and leaned in. “I _strongly_ object to this, Winston. I will _not_ be part of a mission where _he_ is the linchpin.”

“What _choice_ do we have?” Winston fired back. “He is familiar with the business tactics of the _yakuza_ , he knows the language and the area. He’s proven to be a skilled tactician and strategist. I would send Genji, but he is in no condition to go undercover like this. I’m sorry, but there’s no way around this. “

“But back in Russia-“

“-was a _mistake._ If we turned our backs on everyone who made a single mistake, there would be no one left to help us fight,” Winston said with finality. The doctor floundered, looking around at her colleagues for support. Everyone was obviously torn; Lena chewed on her lower lip, Lucio looked _really_ interested at the end of one of his dreads. Hana stretched her chewing gum on the tip of her finger. Torbjorn stroked his beard thoughtfully and Fareeha offered Angela a sheepish smile. Even Reinhardt looked like he wanted nothing to do with the conversation as he appraised the ceiling.

“I will do it,” Hanzo said finally, breaking the silence. Everyone turned to look at him with astonishment. “Winston is right. I must make amends for my… _misstep_ in Siberia. I will take on this persona, Reo Shinoda, and locate this bomb. For my team.”

Angela looked to McCree finally, but the cowboy was too busy staring at Hanzo with his lips parted. _Longingly._ The archer still refused to meet his gaze, but there was a new look of _sheer determination_ in his eyes when he looked to Winston. The ape looked pleased, giving a thankful nod.

“I will offer any assistance I can as well,” Genji added, slapping a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo offered the slightest hint of a smile and _damn it_ if McCree didn’t wish it was for him.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stay behind, Genji,” Winston said sadly. “Same goes for Hana and Lucio.”

“Oh _what_?” Lucio complained, letting the legs of his chair hit the ground with a thud.

“We can’t afford to have anyone who might stand out joining in on this. I won’t have a repeat of Detroit and risk people asking for autographs or pictures. You two are celebrities, and Genji, well…sorry, but no one is going to confuse _you_ for anyone else. We need a tight-knit group that can _blend_. So that leaves Angela, Lena, Mei and McCree, provided he shaves.”

“Hey, leave my beard outta this!” McCree bellowed.

“I didn’t say _shave it off_. Just…tidy it up a bit. And no flannel or Stetson. People are going to _notice_ the tall American cowboy with the full beard, McCree,” Winston groaned, shaking his head. “For gods’ sakes, you’re _special agents_. Sometimes you have to make _sacrifices_ so you can get the job done!”

“I’ll help you, McCree,” Lena offered with a friendly smile. “I’ll pop out and get disguises for everyone too!”

“Oh, shopping trip? I am _so_ in,” Hana grinned and winked. “McCree, how do you feel about hot pink _?_ Polka dots? What about something that says ‘bootylicious’ on the butt? _”_

“I’ll skin you alive, kid,” McCree chuckled, slapping his hat back on his head.

“Everyone involved look over your dossiers and get Lena your measurements. I’ll need you all to book separate flights under your new code names. _None_ of you can be seen together. I’ll get some burner phones so you can at least communicate in between rendezvous.” He held up four fingers. “You have _four days._ That’s _Thursday_ , agents. In the meantime, familiarize yourselves with your identities. _You_ especially, Agent Shimada. You’ll be changing everything about yourself. Well…not _everything_ , but-“

“I understand what you mean,” Hanzo cut off sharply.

“Ah…well…yes. I expected you would.” Winston replaced his glasses and folded his hands behind his back, eager to appear as though Hanzo’s demeanor didn’t unnerve him. “If anyone has any questions, please come find me. There’ll be no coms on this mission, so get anything out of your system while you’re _here.”_

“Well this should be fun,” Fareeha laughed, trying to brighten Angela’s mood with a playful elbow. The blond woman just pursed her lips and stood stiffly.

“Expect me to be visiting you _quite_ often in the next few days, Winston,” she promised.

“That’s fine, Angela,” he sighed, watching as she left. This time she didn’t spare Hanzo a passing glance, and was careful to move _around_ him instead of pushing through him. The archer nodded and moved to leave as well. No one was surprised when McCree scrambled to get up and trot after him.

“ _Dumbass_ …” Fareeha muttered under her breath, smiling as the red serape whipped around and out the door.

A few lopes and McCree could touch Hanzo’s shoulder. The man stopped and spun around, looked surprised, then looked away.

“What can I do for you, McCree?” he asked.

All the words he’d prepared in his head vanished when he was this close to him. McCree opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Slowly and deliberately, he took off his hat and held it to his chest. Hanzo brought his eyes up to watch the gesture, then narrowed them to peer into McCree’s face.

“Thought it was real good of you to volunteer like that,” he finally said. Internally he kicked himself, screamed that he had _something else_ to say. But the words just kept on coming. “Considerin’ what happened, I mean. Think the team’ll appreciate it, too. Just…just wanted you t’know that.” _Please let me come back to your room. I can’t sleep alone again. I don’t care if you won’t tell me what happened. I want to be near you. Please Hanzo. Please._

When McCree caught that brief, crestfallen flash in Hanzo’s eyes, he cursed his inability to articulate when it really mattered. But none of what he _wanted_ to say would come out. All the words that managed to spill out were meaningless – just some dumb, asinine way to claw out a conversation with the man he’d fallen for. But Hanzo didn’t trust him, did he? Didn’t feel the same way? He couldn’t forget the look on his face when he’d left him in Siberia. That _regretful_ look. It kept a tight lid on McCree’s real thoughts, like a cork in a bottle of champagne.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said courteously with a nod, and then turned to continue where he was going. McCree panicked when he’d gotten a few steps away. _Turn around, Hanzo. Don’t let me off this easy. I’ll follow you wherever. Say I’m sorry a million times. Pretend like this never happened. Please. Please. Please._

But the archer turned the corner without sparing another glance over his shoulder. McCree was left standing in the hall, wringing his hands into his hat. Why had things gotten so fucking complicated?

Stupid. _Stupid stupid stupid._

* * *

 

The tears came as soon as the door slid shut behind him. Hanzo pressed his back to the surface and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if to force them back in. Weak. He’d come so far, done so much, and he was still _weak_.

_‘Just think about the offer. You won’t get a better one.’_

He slid down to the floor and ripped the ribbon from his hair, crumpling it into a ball to throw it onto his bed. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Even now he was silent, as if _hearing_ his sobs would make them a reality.

_‘We can help you. Join us and you can sit at the head of that boardroom table again.’_

Guilt drowned him.

He’d _considered_ it, just for a second. What it would be like to be there again. Men at his side. His father’s proud portrait staring down at him over the fireplace. He could convince Genji eventually. _Maybe._ They could be a family again. A _real_ family. Side-by-side, where they were supposed to be.

No. It could never be like that. Never again. That life was over.

Hanzo took a deep, shaky breath and gripped his hair tightly between his fingers. The sharp tug on his scalp grounded him a little. He looked up and stared into the dark, gulping deep breaths until he was breathing normally. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand in a hurry. He was better than this.

_‘We’ve been watching you. We know what you can bring to the table. My employer is very interested.’_

He hadn’t given a definite no. The archer hadn’t shot him immediately and gone down to help his teammates. He’d heard him out. _Contemplated._ Somehow, _that_ was more damning than anything else.

He shakily stood, slid to the bed, and with a hiss, unhooked his prosthetics. They stood like two tall metal boots by his mattress, bathed in the dim sunlight of midafternoon. He couldn’t face the rest of today. He longed for unconsciousness – for the blank slate that would greet him in the form of the following morning.

_‘This is a private offer, Shimada. You put their life on the line if you tell anyone.’_

His gourd wobbled beside the bed as his fingers felt for it. Finally, he gripped it hard and threw it back against his lips. The rush of burning sake made its way down his throat and instilled a pleasant burn down in his belly. It’d help. It wouldn’t be better, but it would help. With it, Hanzo could pretend that there was one metal arm wrapped around his waist and the scruffy tickle of a beard at his back.

_‘You let it slip to the cowboy, I’ll slit his throat.’_

He pressed both hands into his eyes until he saw stars behind his eyelids.

_‘You know I can. I’ve been following you for weeks. He’ll never see me coming. Toe the line and see what happens.’_

He wasn’t afraid of him. Hanzo had made that perfectly clear when they’d met in Detroit. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous. He’d told himself it wasn’t possible. An empty threat. Nothing to fear. Hanzo would fight him. And he’d have to make it past turrets, security doors, floor sensors…

But it was enough to cause doubt. Enough to make him pause. To worry. To picture McCree’s blood on his hands. He hadn’t cared back in Detroit. None of them had mattered like they did now.

He had to protect his team. He had to protect McCree.

Even if they avoided him. Even if they _hated_ him. Even if he had to see that hurt look in the cowboy’s eyes over and over again when he refused to get close. He’d _have_ to tell him if he let him in again. There would be no way he could refuse that goofy smile for long. He had to avoid him. He was doing it for them. He was doing it for _him._

_‘Time’s up, I’m afraid. Gotta get going. Think it over. I’d hate to see that potential go to waste.’_

He grabbed his meager blanket and tossed it over himself until he was little more than a pile of cloth with a small black shock of hair poking out of the top. He was grateful for the burn in his stomach and the relative darkness of the room. He could float here. Forget he had feelings. Forget that he cared. Like it _used_ to be before big amber eyes and the sound of spurs became so sweet.

He couldn’t bear to tell them and have them suffer for it. Even if no harm came, he’d have to see their accusatory glares. Feel their scorn at knowing he’d _almost_ done it. Shaken that clawed hand. Gone off over the edge to try and be what he once was. Betrayed the only people that had ever given him an inkling of a chance. This was better. At least their distrust now was one of his own creation.

He’d make it up to them. He’d find the bomb and show them he still had worth even though he was a liar. Maybe he’d eventually find a way to throw down that barrier again. Maybe he’d be able to snuggle back up under that strong chin, share beer and laugh until his sides hurt. Maybe he could eventually stop running from this gnawing hatred within.

But how would they ever trust him if he couldn’t even trust himself?

“I’m sorry, Jesse,” he murmured into his pillow.

_We’re in this together…remember?_

This time when the tears came he didn’t stop them. He drifted off while his cheeks were still wet and the sheets beneath his eyes were damp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	19. Any minute now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thrive on comments and kudos. please tell me what you think. <3

The days before the mission moved faster than anticipated.

Lena had scoured the small town at the foot of the cliff for as many clothes as she could muster, and had even flown out for a few hours with Hana to procure more. Meanwhile, Winston had cobbled together a few disposable cell phones from boxes he’d left piled in a back hallway. Well, more like walkie-talkies, actually. They could only work with each other and only had a five-mile radius, but they’d get the job done. Out of necessity, Winston had given Angela their only satellite phone. It was a huge risk, but he couldn’t afford to have agents out in the field that couldn’t contact him. Unavoidable.

As promised, Angela had been in Winston’s lab day in and day out, pitching alternative plans and arguing. Winston had handled each attempt with as much patience as he could muster, playing devil’s advocate and offering counters to each ‘what-if’ she threw down. But he had to admit, she _did_ have a point.

Hanzo’s behavior had been unpredictable at best. He’d managed to be both an asset and a hindrance in equal measure. Although his skills were unparalleled on the battlefield, his motivations were dodgy and his loyalties even more so. This whole situation in Siberia and his refusal to talk about it was _more_ than suspect. But…

“But everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt,” he’d decided out loud, nodding. Angela had gone silent, unable to think of a proper rebuttal. “Maybe that’s stupid. But after everything we’ve seen, how could I justify still wanting to save the world if I _didn’t_ think that way?”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead, and Angela moved around the table to rub his back.

“I think, with a little effort? He’ll come around.” He looked to Angela and smiled. She couldn’t help but smile gently back. “If we expect him to have faith in us, we’ll have to have faith in him first. Just… _try,_ Angela. Please?”

And how could she argue with those big, pleading eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then sighed. Defeated. It was impossible. Winston had beamed at her, triumphant, and gone back to whatever he was working on.

“…but if he _does_ end up being a jerk, I’ll let you use him for surgical practice.” Angela couldn’t help but laugh at that.

The rest of them did their best to acclimate to their pretend lives.

Lena, for example, was to be Beatrice Corning – an architectural student from London who was studying abroad. She’d never really been given an opportunity to study at a university thanks to her early induction into the Slipstream testing program, so she and Hana had a hell of a good time developing the character. ‘Lena’ became ‘Beatrice’ around the base, and she’d even dyed her hair a flashy shade of red. She couldn’t avoid having to wear the chronal accelerator, so a lot of her costume choices included thick sweaters and ruffles. ‘Beatrice likes eccentric fashion,’ she’d explained, modeling a baggy bohemian shirt in front of a mirror. Everyone shrugged. It didn’t need to make perfect sense. It just had to _pass._ And judging by the weird shit kids wore these days, it’d do just that.

To make things easier, Angela was to play the part of Dr. Nina Bachmann, a visiting neuroscientist who was taking a short, few-day vacation away from the hospital she was consulting at in Tokyo. Refusing to dye her hair, she had instead started to wear it down instead of its usual ponytail. It annoyed the hell out of her and got in her face almost all the time, but, as Winston had said, sacrifices needed to be made to get the job done. Fareeha liked it too, so that was some incentive.

Mei was to be Shu Chen, a Chinese tourist and photographer. The large camera she’d have around her neck would be a good cover for Snowball to hide in should they run into trouble. She could also smuggle in a backpack – one that Winston had made for her that would fool the scanners and make it past security. She could hide a few things – a travel version of her endothermic blaster, maybe a few of McCree’s flashbangs for emergencies. She wasn’t _too_ thrilled with the idea of playing the stereotypical Asian tourist to put it lightly, but when Snowball had chittered and floated into its snug little compartment, she figured it wasn’t all bad. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

And McCree? Well…

“Joel Eastwood,” he read before sliding the dossier down and fixing Winston with an unimpressed face. “ _Really_?”

“Novelty club musician from Texas. I thought you’d like it,” Winston smiled, sparks flying where he held the soldering iron against the project he was working on. “I wanted to give you a _little_ of that cowboy flair since you wouldn’t be able to wear the flannel and the fringe and everything…”

“I don’t wear _fringe_ , Winston.”

“The guitar case will help you get Peacekeeper through airport security,” Winston said finally. “I rigged it so it would sit behind a lead compartment under the actual guitar. It’ll be totally hidden unless you know exactly what you’re looking for. So quit bitching.”

“Ah, I feel like 007!” _Beatrice_ said, eyeing the prototype for Mei’s fake camera and spinning around in her chair. “Gadgets, gizmos and intrigue! I love-“

A light rapping of knuckles against the door turned everyone’s attention up. McCree almost fell backwards out of his chair. His unlit cigar fell out of his mouth and hit the floor, leaving a gray smudge against the white tile.

“Oh! Hanzo! I see the suit we picked up fits like a dream,” she said with a smile.

That was an understatement by a landslide. Hanzo was dressed to the nines – all dark wool and shiny leather. The black dress pants he wore fitted him like a second skin, the fabric butter-soft and draped in all the right ways. The white button down beneath the onyx sports jacket struggled just the slightest bit against the thickness of his pecs. It was unbuttoned until it opened at the hollow of his throat, a pinstripe tie draped around his shoulders that he hadn’t yet gotten around to tying. He wore his hair down – Hana must have used her straightener on it, because the charming cowlicks and fly-aways that Jesse had become so accustomed to were forced down and in-line into a dark waterfall.

He looked incredibly uncomfortable as he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves and shifted his weight in his shoes. McCree was mesmerized by the way his hair bounced with every slight movement. Like pouring ink.

“I apologize for the intrusion. Winston, I was hoping to borrow a pair of reading glasses…for my costume.”

The sudden timber of his voice drew his eyes back to his lips. Then his jaw.

“You…you shaved,” he murmured, halfway in between under his breath and out loud. Hanzo looked startled and was momentarily drawn away from his fidgeting to run his fingers over his cheeks.

“The brothers in Hanamura have seen me on more than one occasion. I thought it would be easier to hide in plain sight if I removed a familiar characteristic.”

“It looks…good. It looks _really_ good, Hanzo.”

Without the facial hair, the pink that stained Hanzo’s cheeks was even more prominent. He formed his lips into a tight line and nodded as politely as he could manage. The reaction just had McCree confused, but it didn’t stop him from sighing dreamily anyway. _So pretty._

Lena gasped loudly and flashed across the room to peer in Hanzo’s face. Her eyes were wide and drawn to a little red spot between his eyes. The archer leaned back on his heels and frowned.

“What is _that?!”_ she squealed, pointing. McCree stood with squinted eyes until he was close enough to catch what she was talking about. He had to admit, when he finally figured it out, he was more than a little surprised.

Hanzo had gotten _pierced._ And not just any piercing – a _bridge_ piercing. The spot was still a little puffy – it had to have been _very_ recent.

“I was looking for ways to… _modernize_ my appearance. Genji suggested I pierce something, though I suspect he meant it as a joke,” Hanzo said, arching his neck to avoid Lena’s fierce scrutiny. “I unfortunately inherited my family’s prominent brow, so this should help offset that. It only permeates the skin and not the cartilage, so I will be able to remove it when it no longer proves useful.”

“Wouldn’t peg you for the piercin’ type,” McCree commented, smiling. “Does it hurt?”

“I have felt worse,” Hanzo said. Then, unable to resist: “…there are much more _precarious_ places I could have chosen.” McCree blinked wide at the reference and, even though he _should_ have been embarrassed, couldn’t help the glimmer of hope that flared up. Was…was Hanzo joking with him? Was that a sign that everything was getting better? His smile got wider.

“Ah, here you go,” Winston said, coming around the table to hand him a spare pair of spectacles. “I have a pretty light prescription, so you should be fine.”

Hanzo placed the light frames low on his nose and practiced looking over them. McCree’s heart fluttered. How he could make such an innocuous accessory look so good was downright unfair.

“Thank you. I will return them after the mission,” Hanzo said, folding the glasses to slide them into his front pocket. Winston smiled broadly and Hanzo tapped the toes of his loafers against the tile floor, a hand in his pocket. He looked ready to say something else – like he was looking for an excuse to hang around. With one last look to McCree – one dead in the eyes that had the cowboy frozen – the sound of his loafers echoed back down the corridor.

Jesse was up in an instant. Yeah, he knew a signal when he saw one. With the mission only a day away, he probably wouldn’t get another opportunity as good as this. Lena smirked and saluted him as he rushed out and up to his room. He had to…grab a few things.

  

* * *

 

 

A thunderstorm was rolling up over the water like a blanket when Hanzo finally made his way to the roof.

He’d changed out of his expensive suit, bagged it, and hung it on his closet door, grabbed his baggy of loose tobacco and his rolling papers, and kicked off his shoes. The neurotransmitters implanted in the toes of his prosthetics relished the feeling of the rough concrete beneath them. As he rolled up the cigarette, sealed it shut with a lick and lit up, he wiggled them as much as he was allowed. He’d never really enjoyed the feeling of having to pick lint from the joints, nor the way he lost any sensory advantage he might have had when his feet were crammed into shoes. He balanced on one foot, then the other as he took a drag, then headed out to the edge to watch the clouds gather.

For the first time in days, he hadn’t come here to have a private crying jag. And he didn’t feel the same sort of bitter melancholy that had plagued him so often since Siberia. All that was left was a sort of… _numbness_. It wasn’t unpleasant, he had to admit, and it was a welcome change from the guilt he’d come to know so well.

The tobacco helped.

He swung his legs over the side and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t wrapped it back up, and for once found himself enjoying the way it brushed over his eyes and nose – unruly, out of control, but still his.

Thunder cracked in the distance. He could smell the rain amidst the salt spray and the birds had gone uncharacteristically quiet, sensing the change in atmosphere. But the wind was heading east – it wouldn’t hit land. It would bolster the waves and darken the sky, but the concrete around him wouldn’t be dampened by much-needed raindrops. A pity. He almost wished he could sit out there and soak it all up, as if it would replenish him somehow.

“You just keep on surprisin’ the hell outta me today,” a voice at his back said. He didn’t have to crane his neck to see who was speaking. _Shit._ He knew this had been too good to be true. One of the first times he’d left his bed in _days_ to do anything other than mission work and of _course_ McCree had sought him out.

The cowboy plopped down beside him with a thermos and two small mugs. Hanzo looked at him with what he hoped was irritation. In truth, it was probably closer to mild curiosity. Without the help of his sharp beard, any expression that _might_ have been deemed as threatening was now downright muted.

“I am not looking for company,” he muttered, turning a grumpy visage back out to the sea.

“I am,” McCree replied jauntily, unscrewing the lid to the thermos. “I didn’t know you smoked. Always thought you saw it as a nasty habit.”

“It is,” Hanzo replied quickly, but exhaled a cloud of smoke anyway. “I only do it in times of great stress.”

“You stressed now?” McCree asked, pouring steaming liquid from the thermos. When one was offered to him, Hanzo took a tentative sniff and sipped. Tea?

“I am…getting better,” he murmured, warmed to the bone thanks to the drink in his hand. “What do you _want_ , Jesse?”

“Can’t a guy just watch the ocean? Shit, Han, quit tryin’ to fight the whole damn world all the time.”

He had him there. It wasn’t as though Hanzo had a claim on the roof or anything. And the cowboy _had_ chosen to sit with a good foot or two between them. But still – it had to be a ploy. He’d been downright _avoiding_ the cowboy on purpose, and it hadn’t exactly been subtle. Most would have taken the hint by now. For the most part, McCree _had_ , leaving Hanzo to his own devices. It left the archer feeling deeply conflicted. On one hand, he was doing exactly what he wanted. On the other, he wished Jesse would say ‘fuck the consequences’ and bother him anyway. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt now that half of his wish had come true.

“I will not discuss Siberia,” Hanzo grunted, sipping the tea again.

“Didn’t think you would,” came the easy reply, Jesse lighting up his own cigar. Hanzo did a bit of a double-take, half-burnt cigarette settled between his lips. Jesse sensed eyes on him and met Hanzo’s incredulous stare with an amused one of his own.

“What? You already said once you didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“I know. But I did not really expect you to respect my wishes so readily.”

“I trust you.”

Hanzo flinched and Jesse reactively reached out to take the cup from him. “Shit, did it burn you? I knew I shouldn’ta kept the kettle on for so long…”

“Why?”

McCree stopped and set the cup down. “Why what?”

“Why on _earth_ would you trust me?” The idea was almost laughable. Hanzo just shook his head and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I have given you no reason to.”

“You crazy?” Jesse asked, smirking. “I got _plenty_ of reasons to trust you. For starters, you saved my life back in Detroit-“

“Anyone would have done the same thing,” Hanzo cut him off, shaking his head. “I am not soulless.”

“Not everyone woulda kicked a guy’s ass from here t’kingdom come for hittin’ me in the face a few times, Han,” Jesse countered. “ _And_ you didn’t kick _my_ ass for feelin’ you up in a damn closet. That’s reason number two.”

Hanzo curled his lip but went pink in the ears anyway. McCree just looked back out over the ocean, a thoughtful look in his eyes. The archer liked the way the wind toyed with the long hair behind his ears and made the curls bounce and sway.

“You’re _tryin’_ , Han. That’s reason three. You might have some of them fooled into thinkin’ you’re still this broodin’ lone wolf, but I know better.”

He took his cigar between two fingers and blew a smoky breath over his tea to cool it, and Hanzo watched the plume dissipate among the turbid wind.

“Any broodin’ lone wolf woulda left my ass here by now, for starters,” Jesse said with a knowing smile, eyeing him while he took a sip. Hanzo didn’t really have an argument that wouldn’t sound stupid or forced, so he kept quiet.

“Look,” McCree continued, setting his cup aside. “I don’t know what happened in Russia-“ He raised a hand when Hanzo opened his mouth to speak, effectively silencing him. “-and I don’t _wanna_ know if you don’t wanna tell me. But lemme just tell you. This whole silent treatment shit? It _sucks._ I _hate_ it.”

Hanzo didn’t know what to say, honestly. Which was good, because Jesse just kept on talking.

“You’ve got me strung along like a yo-yo, Han. First you seem like you hate me, then I start thinkin’ you like me, then I start thinkin’ you like me a _lot,_ and then…” He trailed off and brought his heel up so he could rest his elbow on his knee. “I just wanna know where we stand, is all. Before we go out there and get blown up or shot at or who knows what. And don’t start with that ‘I’m lost’ bullshit, or I swear I’ll-“

“Do you really trust me?”

Hanzo asked the question with slumped shoulders and a far-away look. He could almost feel the confusion radiating from the other man, but he paid it no mind. When he didn’t get an answer the first time, he turned to look at him, his eyes boring into him. Jesse let his eyebrows disappear into the brim of his hat.

“Do you _really_ trust me?”

McCree paused, shut his mouth, and then nodded dumbly. Hanzo sighed, flicked his cigarette, and looked out over the ocean. Lightning struck in random patterns, lighting up the surf beneath it. He knew this would happen. He knew getting too close to the cowboy again would test his resolve. And, just as predicted, he was about to probably make the biggest mistake of all. But if something was going to happen, for better or worse, he wanted McCree to know.

Maybe it was just as simple as letting the words flow forth and then…finding their place on the river. Together. They would take on any challenges as a _team_.

“I was approached,” Hanzo started, eyes gazing downwards. “In Siberia.”

McCree was taken aback that this subject was even coming up at all, but much to his credit, he settled in and didn’t say more than he needed to. Hanzo was grateful for that.

“Approached? By who?”

Hanzo gave him a pointed look and McCree guessed in an instant. Concern filled his eyes but he didn’t voice his thoughts. It gave Hanzo more time to gather his own.

“He made me an offer. To join him. To join Talon.”

He waited for McCree to explode. For him to stand and sneer and back away. To curse him for a traitor and run back inside to tell the others.

But he didn’t. He was… _surprised_ , and his expression plainly said so, but he did none of those things. Instead, he was calm. He scooted closer to Hanzo until he could speak a bit more quietly, but he didn’t seem suddenly repulsed. Hanzo took comfort in that. Maybe he did trust him after all. It didn’t stop the wave of guilt from washing over him, but it did keep him from being caught in the riptide.

“I…did not say no,” Hanzo said, his voice cracking a little. He could still feel McCree’s gaze on him, though he was completely unsure as to what he might see in those deep amber eyes now. Any minute now he would scramble to his feet. Any minute now he would renounce his trust and draw his gun. Any minute now-

“Didja say yes?”

Hanzo blinked and met his eyes. There was no disgust there. None at all. Consternation, maybe, with a bit of focused determination, but no anger. Or hatred.

Dumbfounded, Hanzo could do nothing but shake his head. “No. I did not.”

“Did you…I mean, is that something you want?”

Again, Hanzo shook his head. “Maybe at one point I might have, but…no. I do not.”

McCree looked pensive. Hanzo desperately wanted to grab and shake him, beg him for his thoughts. His opinions. _Anything._ He wouldn’t have to wait long.

“Well, I guess it ain’t that big a deal then, huh?”

The storm was the only sound that filled the air for what felt like the longest time. Hanzo couldn’t find it within himself to form _words_ , the air having been pulled from his chest until it was hard to breathe. McCree, damn, _amazing_ McCree, just looked the same as always. A bit more serious, perhaps, but still just as calm and easy as a bird on the wind. The archer couldn’t believe it.

“I do not think you understood what I said,” Hanzo said. “I said I almost-“

“But you _didn’t,”_ Jesse said, cutting him off entirely. “You were given a _choice_ , Han. Y’might not have made it out there on that roof, but y’sound like you got it figured now. So why twist yourself up about it? Could have just as easily said ‘sure’ and left us to get pummeled by that fuckin’ mech. But you stayed. Hell, you even volunteered for a mission to take ‘em out.”

“I could just be attempting to double-cross everyone,” Hanzo pointed out, laughing ruefully.

“Yeah…yeah you could be, but you ain’t,” Jesse said with confidence.

“You…you sound so sure,” Hanzo breathed, emotion overwhelming him.

“I am,” McCree said, turning to flash him a grin. “I been around enough bad guys to one when I see one. You ain’t a bad guy, Han, as much as you keep tellin’ yourself otherwise. You’re just a guy who…don’t really know what t’do with himself yet. But we all been there. And, shit, I keep tellin’ you. For better or worse? We’re in this together.”

It only took Hanzo a second to close the distance and slot his head up under that scruffy chin. Both of them let out a heavy, relieved sigh at the same time, like they’d been given back an important piece that was missing. Hanzo could feel McCree press his nose into his hair and breathe in, and on reflex he snuggled in closer, pressing his hand against McCree’s chest.

"I am so sorry, Jesse."

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jesse asked, shaking his head.

“He said he would kill you,” Hanzo croaked, holding back a sob when Jesse wrapped his metal arm around him. “And now that I have told you, he might. I have doomed us both.”

Jesse blew a raspberry and shook his head. “That all? Honey, you know how many times people have threatened to kill me? Think I counted fourteen this month alone…”

“I will not have your blood on my hands!” Hanzo suddenly shouted, rearing back to look McCree in the eyes. They both stared at each other as the wind picked up, the storm arching closer to the shore. Hanzo’s loose hair was billowing upwards, fighting against the gusts that tangled in it. “I will not be the cause of anyone else’s suffering, Jesse.”

A pause, and for a moment McCree looked like he was about to say something amazingly profound. He sat up straight, eyes locked with Hanzo’s, and then…he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Might wanna tell that to Torb’s turrets, darlin’. Sure looked like they were doin’ a bit of sufferin’ when you got done with ‘em.”

Hanzo blinked once. Twice. Three times. And then _laughed._ He couldn’t help it. There wasn’t anything else left _in_ him but relief – the rest had been purged over days and days of bitter solitude. And now that his words were out in the open and the cowboy was _still_ at his side? Oh, it felt so good just to laugh. To let the noise be carried by the storm winds until it was just part of the ambience. McCree eventually joined in, coaxing Hanzo to return to their former positions against each other.

“We got this covered, babycakes - you an' me. I have a feelin’ that whatever comes our way don’t know what its messin’ with,” the cowboy eventually said, his arms around Hanzo’s waist. The archer just hummed and nuzzled against his chest and throat, sighing contentedly against the soft cloth and hair. A sudden realization had him pulled out of his contented reverie.

“You cannot tell the others,” Hanzo said, leaning back to look up at him.  

“Huh? Why? We gotta say _somethin’_ , Han. Everyone thinks you were part of-“

“I know,” he sighed dejectedly. “I know. _After_. I will tell them after. If you tell them now, I would not be allowed on the mission. I _need_ to do this, Jesse. To prove that I am…becoming _better.”_

“Well I dunno, Han…I mean, come to think of it, I’m not sure _I_ want you on this mission anymore-“

“ _Please_ , Jesse,” Hanzo said, his hands on his shoulders. He realized he sounded desperate. Realized, but didn’t care. When the cowboy deflated and nodded, Hanzo let relief flood through him again, and he rested his forehead against Jesse’s. A sting of pain reminded him of his new addition, and he reared back with a soft hiss and a rub.

“That’s hot, by the way,” Jesse said, eyeing the piercing. “Smokin’ and gettin’ pierced, huh? Guess we got ourselves a regular badboy in the makin’ over here.”

Hanzo pulled Jesse’s hat down over his eyes with a deadpan look, but eventually pulled it back up so he could kiss him. The cowboy’s scruff felt weird against his plain skin. But it was still _Jesse,_ so it still felt like home.

“To answer your question,” Hanzo said softly, resting his forehead against his once more. “Before we go out and get blown up or shot at. I _do_ like you. A lot. I…do not know what that means…but. I trust you.”

The kiss Hanzo got in response melted his insides and turned him to mush. Boneless, he leaned against him and waited for the cowboy’s exuberance to fizzle, which it did after a time, and he was left facing a dazzling grin that rivaled the flashes of lightning over the sea.

“I reckon I _like_ this badboy thing you got goin’…” he murmured finally, both breathless.

Together they sat and let their tea go cold. By the time the storm passed, the sky was dark and neither could be bothered to move. Feeling like they were right where they needed to be, they slept under the stars on the roof, McCree with his hat over his eyes and Hanzo with his arm over his chest.

 

It was perfect.

 

And it would be their last night together for a very long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com
> 
> I'll occasionally post updates, notes, and general dumbfuckery.


	20. The Hanamura Mission (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill. lemme know what you think. <3 kudos and comments greatly appreciated. 
> 
> if you don't wanna do that here, i'm also on tumblr in case you haven't been beaten over the head with the URL yet. ;)
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com
> 
> ON A SIDE NOTE: if any of you feel like drawing up some art for this fic, god i'd love that shit. don't at all feel obligated or like i'm asking you to take time out or anything, but just putting it out there that i would be more than happy to receive it and give you a shout out. just shoot me a note on tumblr or leave a comment. <3

The planes all left at different times from different gates, but all from the airport in Gibraltar. Angela had left first, hair down and sunglasses on, at about three in the morning. She carried the SAT phone with her, as well as her burner phone and a mostly-empty suitcase full of a few outfits, her hidden and dismantled Caduceus staff, and some last-ditch medical supplies. An unfamiliar name stared back at her from her boarding pass as she hugged Fareeha and kissed her cheek, shook Winston’s hand, and made the trek down the hillside to catch a taxi in town.

A few hours later and it was Lena’s turn. Then Mei’s a few hours after. Both left in similar fashion – a hug and a wave, some lighthearted parting words. None of them knew exactly what they were walking into, and the uncertainty was enough to make their departures seem final. Like they weren’t coming back.

For one member of the team, it was true.

McCree and Hanzo spent the morning sitting across from one another in the mess hall, the archer drinking tea while the cowboy downed black coffee. They both had kinks in their backs but smiles on their faces. It was tough not to, thanks to the cloud of butterflies flapping their wings in their stomachs – partially due to the mission, and partially due to just being close again. This would be the last time they’d see each other and be able to talk for about a week, so they took advantage.

McCree told Hanzo about his life back home in Santa Fe – how the desert stretched for miles until you lost where the land ended and the sky began. He described the scattered brush and the scurrying lizards, the taste of fry bread while it was still hot from a roadside stand. He told Hanzo about his time in Deadlock – how his cousin had gotten him started, boosting cars and holding up convenience stores. After that it was banks with the big boys, shoot-outs with the cops while their cars and cycles tore up the dusty pavement. Hanzo listened, enthralled, swirling his tea while simultaneously keeping his eyes on the clock.

Four hours until they had to get ready.

Then three.

Then one and a half.

He told Jesse about his time _after_ he left the clan. How he left Japan for a few years, stumbling through foreign places, indulging in a _bit_ too much booze to avoid his own thoughts. How he’d gathered all he’d had left - gone to China to study with the Shaolin and to learn _wushu_ , then to India to gain knowledge from a _kalarippayattu_ master. Then France to hone his skills in _savate._ The same story but with different places, different words, all in a never-ending struggle to be the best. To prove his worth to the ghost of his brother.  

It was Jesse’s turn to get lost in his stories, eyes flicking to the _obnoxious_ clock on the wall. His flight was scheduled to leave a half hour after Hanzo’s. Not much time left now.

They showered together in Hanzo’s cramped bathroom, but didn’t get much cleaning done. McCree had been left moaning and gripping at wet locks of hair in desperation while Hanzo whispered in his ear and made honey-filled promises of all the things they’d do after this was done. By the time the hot water went cold, they were sated and lazy, only moving away from each other to put on an item of clothing at a time. Eventually Hanzo was the one to push the cowboy away, slipping on his shoes, ignoring the whine and disappointed frown. Back to business – there would be more time for fun _after_ they’d saved the world. McCree eventually relented. They had a _bomb_ to take care of. That, unfortunately, took precedence over the tight ass that Hanzo was currently sliding into a pair of slacks. Deeply _unfair_ , but obligatory.

Hanzo helped Jesse trim his beard and cut his hair, brown curls dusting the floor in wet clumps until McCree was examining himself in the mirror. A new man - Joel fuckin’ Eastwood. For Hanzo, he would be anything he needed him to be.

Winston averted his eyes when they kissed at the head of the path. Uncomfortable with prying eyes, Hanzo had cut it off short with a playful push and headed down, armed with only a suitcase and a protective bag for his suit. McCree stood at the top of the dirt road and watched him until he disappeared over the hillside – waved until he couldn’t see him anymore.

A little while later, McCree was lighting up a cigar and tossing Winston a salute. When _he_ disappeared and went down into town, no one else followed. The mission had started.

They were on their own. 

 

* * *

 

 

Winston had set up the meeting a few days prior. Athena had played negotiator – with a voice modifier, she disguised herself as the breathy, meek secretary of Reo Shinoda. The _yakuza_ were never ones to hide their names, so seeking out one of the _kaikei_ for the Hanamura chapter of the Shimada-gumi was relatively simple. It took a bit of bluffing on both sides, but eventually they decided that a meeting was entirely doable. No weapons, no vast entourages. Just businessmen doing business with dignity and honor.

They had no delusions that the Shimadas would give up where the bomb was being stored right off the bat. And finding Sombra in this mess would be even harder. This sort of thing would take _finesse_ , and ultimately _time,_ so the meeting would have to take place early in the mission. Hanzo barely had enough time to get off the plane before he was calling from his dinky disposable cell phone and hiring a car. A public place had been established as their rendezvous point – the Mayonaka Club. It’d been around since he was a boy, and he was familiar only from the standpoint that he’d had to chase Genji out of there at odd hours in the morning when they were young.

Once he slid into the plush leather interior of the black sedan, the world he’d tried so damned hard to escape came rushing back to him like opening a floodgate. The dim interior lights that illuminated the rocks glasses that had taken residence near the righthand door, the separating window between he and the driver – he’d seen his father in this place instead of him, handing down life lessons in the form of growled threats and stories. But he didn’t have time to get nostalgic.

He picked up the sleek black phone beside him and held it to his ear. The driver up front answered hurriedly, more concerned with the destination than pleasantries.

“ _Club District. Take the scenic route.”_ Reo Shinoda wouldn’t be caught _dead_ as the first one to a scheduled meeting. A power play – show them he didn’t _need_ their partnership. He was doing _them_ a favor. Hanzo remembered all the stupid tricks; all the little nuances and traditions that got passed around between sips of scotch. He hung up the phone without waiting for the response and felt confident when the pavement began moving beneath him.

The windows were dark – almost too dark to see out of, thanks to the tint, but Hanzo could still make out the quaint shops and traditional charm from his youth. It was odd to see it like this without his back huddled in a corner. He hadn’t sat in the back of a luxury car like this for over a decade. He felt… _odd._ Like a pebble bouncing around in couture shoe. He used the time alone with his thoughts to compulsively smooth out his suit and tug at his cuffs, removing a pair of black leather driving gloves from his pocket and sliding them on. It would do absolute fuck-all to walk in and have them spy a glimmer of tattoo at his wrist. From then on out, it was all about _details_.

The way his hair fell. A smudge on his reading glasses. The straightness and tightness of the tie around his neck. His posture corrected itself over every pothole and around every turn as he made himself appear busy fidgeting with a small day-planner he’d purchased at the airport. In it he scribbled made-up names and dates – meetings he’d never go to in places he’d never been. Never knew who might be looking. _Details._

He side-eyed the black briefcase at his feet that occasionally slid along the upholstery. Winston had hidden a collapsible bow in the bottom compartment, along with a few spare strings and a small quiver of tightly-packed arrows. Hanzo had never spent this long away from Storm bow – he felt _naked_ despite having more clothes on than he’d had in years. He trained his eyes back to the planner and continued to scribble. _Yamamoto, Akihiro – 4 pm, August 9 th. Tenshiro, Akinobu – 3:15 pm, August 10th. Jesse McCree-_

He hissed and scribbled the name out until it left a slightly torn indent in the paper and then slapped the planner shut. _Aw, you’re thinkin’ of lil’ ol’ me? Keep your eyes on the prize, archer. I’ve got your back._

Fuck. Hanzo growled and, in a desperate attempt to get back into character, tugged at the little barbell at the bridge of his nose. The sting brought him back to reality and shoved the _obnoxiously_ cool timber from his head. Reo Shinoda was a ruthless _kaikei._ Reo Shinoda knew nothing of cowboys or how much hot sauce they liked in their beans and rice. Reo Shinoda was a killer. Cold-blooded. Ruthless. He had to stay focused. He had to _do this._

The phone rang beside him with incessant beeps. Had they arrived already? Hanzo brought his hand away from his face and lifted the receiver.

_“Club District, sir. Did you have a specific destination in mind, or shall I drop you here? If so, it will be-“_

Hanzo had already hung up and exited the vehicle, not waiting for the man to open the door for him. The driver, looking flustered by the way Hanzo glared him down as he shelled out his fare, quickly bowed and then bowed again, hurriedly moving around the front of the wide black Benz and back into the driver’s seat. The Mayonaka club was only a few buildings down and it was nearly time.

He absently lit a cigarette and let his eyes wander over the milling crowds on the street. Somewhere amidst them all, under the garish neon lights and flickering LED screens, his team members were watching him. It was both disconcerting and comforting at the same time. His phone burnt a hole in his pocket as he started walking.

Hanzo rounded the corner and stared forward with hawkish eyes as two men in long coats pulled the doors open for him. He took one last drag, exhaled, and crushed it beneath his heel. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, he finally strode inside.

It was time to play the game.

The term ‘club’ was a bit of a misnomer. In reality, it was more of a high-class, modern bar. The frontside did no justice to how large it was – multiple floors were lined with soft mahogany and gold jutting deep into the twisting architecture of the building. The floor was dark hardwood and it stretched luxuriously under round tables with black lacquer chairs and plush gold cushions. Ambient piano music played off towards the back somewhere, dispersed throughout by the carefully hidden ceiling speakers. Across the room, an open kitchen was positioned behind a long, arched bar, illuminated shelves of liquor bottles being the only partition.

Since it was early in the evening, there weren’t too many people. A few couples lingering by the bar sharing a cocktail or two, businessmen seated around backroom tables discussing investments over sushi and beer. The air was a mix of spices, fry oil, faint cologne, and candle smoke.

Hanzo spied the Shimada _kaikei_ sitting at a table in the back corner, his face dimly lit by the candle on the table. He was hunched a little, tapping away on his cell phone, but Hanzo could have picked him out anywhere. The black dragon tattoo that curled up over his throat and under his ear was a dead giveaway, though as he closed in, he saw the poor quality in it. Not a real Shimada, then. Someone who had branded themselves to ride off the coattails of the family name, but who held no real power. It made Hanzo curl his lip but he schooled himself when the man finally saw him and stood.

 _“Shinoda-sama, I presume. Thank you for joining me,”_ he said, deeply bowing. Hanzo did the same, placing his briefcase near the legs of the table to mirror his actions.

 _“I hope I did not keep you waiting...?”_ Hanzo said as he stood. Of course he knew the man’s name, but acting as though he couldn’t be bothered to remember was another little powerplay. Reo Shinoda was too important to be bothered with every little _kaikei_ in the area. The man seemed startled at first, but quickly offered a professional smile.

_“Nakamura, Saito. And not at all. Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink? I took the liberty of ordering a bit of sake-“_

_“Whiskey. Neat. Something American,”_ Hanzo said quickly, smoothing down his tie as he sat down, all control and poise. Saito blinked but smiled again and waved the server over with a hand. The small girl, wearing a crisp white shirt and black apron, smiled and bowed her head before rushing off.

 _“Interesting choice,”_ he finally commented, locking his cellphone with an audible click and setting it to the side.

_“I’ve come to acquire some rather…odd tastes in more recent years.”_

_“It’s funny. My colleagues and I were completely unaware that Shinoda-sama even_ had _a grandson…”_ Saito suddenly said, swirling his drink and settling back in his seat. _“Much less one that is a high-ranking accountant for your clan…”_ Uh-oh.

 _“I make it a habit to not throw my grandfather’s name around like birdseed,”_ Hanzo said stiffly as the server placed his cool glass of dark liquid before him. _“I am under the impression that one’s accomplishments can speak for themselves. I do not need to ride on the wave of a strong family’s infamy in order to be successful.”_

Ouch. Saito apparently picked up on the jab and absently brushed the tattoo on his throat with a bit of a frown. Hanzo quietly chuckled in his mind and took a sip. The whiskey burned just like McCree’s at home, but went down smooth. It was obviously not as cheap. Somehow that left Hanzo feeling disappointed.

 _“Let us cut to the chase, if you don’t mind,”_ Hanzo said quickly, laying his black day-planner on the table. _“I have many prior engagements and very little time to delay. So. I wish to discuss…”_ He interlaced his gloved fingers and leaned his elbows against the table. _“…the purpose for this meeting. A tentative partnership between the clans.”_

 _“Tentative?”_ Saito asked. _“Relying on what terms, exactly?”_

 _“Well, I’ll be frank,”_ Hanzo said coolly, reaching into his front pocket to retrieve a pen. _“We have done our research on the current fiscal standings of the Shimada-gumi. What was once a great empire has dwindled to a mere blip on the radar. You hold only seventy-five percent of the properties in Hanamura, twenty-six percent of the shipping and trading companies west of Tokyo, and a_ trifling _ten percent of the gambling outlets in the surrounding areas. Your other investments are hardly worth a mention so I won’t waste my time.”_ Hanzo had taken the liberty to do a long binge of research prior to the trip, and from the way Saito was glaring at him, he was glad for it. But the man wasn’t stupid – he wouldn’t dare issue a public challenge to a high-ranking official to the largest _yakuza_ family in the world. So Hanzo continued, enjoying the way he loosened his collar and took a generous gulp of his sake.

 _“Your territory, which once bordered on ours and rivaled in size, is now barely stretching past Hanamura, with a few isolated veins in Tokyo, Nagoya and Hamamatsu. Your clan is_ dying _. But we are willing to…help. For a meager price, of course.”_

 _“I never knew the Yamamoto-gumi to be so kind-hearted to its competitors,”_ Saito said dryly.

Hanzo chuckled. _“I would hardly call you a competitor, though I do agree it is incredibly out of character. If it were up to me, I would simply invade your borders and destroy you while you are weak. But this is why I am not oyabun.”_

_“No. You aren’t.”_

Saito thought for a moment, reaching into his inside pocket to retrieve a cigarette. The server who had been buzzing around the table moved over to put a stop to it, but with a pointed look from Saito, bowed and moved away.

 _“And that price would be?”_ he asked around the cigarette as he bent to light it using the flame from the candle.

 _“Kenichi-sama has come across some…rumors,”_ Hanzo said, sipping his whiskey. It wouldn’t do to just beat around the bush. There was no telling how long this bomb would be in the area, much less what the plan was for it. Saito didn’t seem all that inclined to put up much of a fight, which Hanzo was grateful for, so he decided to take his chances. If he was lucky, Saito would confirm their suspicions. If he wasn’t, their cover would be blown and he’d be shot in the head by a hidden _yakuza_ brother somewhere in the building.

 _“Rumors,”_ Saito repeated, blowing the smoke into Hanzo’s face. The archer kept a straight face, not even bothering to wave it off. Hanzo just swirled his whiskey, opening his day planner to scribble in it again. Like he couldn’t at all be bothered with this conversation.

 _“Yes. Rumors of a rather…delicate nature. We have had brothers reporting something rather_ interesting _being kept here in Hanamura under Shimada security. I would hope you would know to what I am referring.”_

Saito stiffened and Hanzo wondered if the jig was up. When Saito narrowed his eyes and set down his cup, Hanzo was ready to grab his briefcase and nock an arrow. But when he settled back again and put his cigarette between his lips, his fears were dispelled.

 _“What an odd rumor,”_ he said. _“You should probably tell your men to stay away from their televisions for a while.”_

 _“If it is untrue, please forgive me,”_ Hanzo said with a shrug, downing the last of his whiskey and reaching for his briefcase to stand. _“If that is the case, I have wasted both our times and this meeting is over-“_

 _“I simply said it was odd,”_ Saito cut him off, balancing the cigarette between his teeth. _“Not that it was untrue. Though I am curious how such a thing could have come to the attention of Kenichi-sama himself.”_

Hanzo sat again and waved the server over for another whiskey. When he produced a hand-rolled cigarette from a silver cigarette case in his pocket, Saito raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Hanzo lit it with a zippo McCree had bought him a few weeks back – brushed silver with a dragon etched into the front.

 _“That is a question for our lawyers,”_ he said simply. _“I am merely an accountant and makeshift envoy.”_

 _“A lawyer is precisely who I will have to bring this to if we were to consider your offer,”_ Saito replied, his face contorting a bit when Hanzo blew smoke back at him in retaliation. _“But I would need a clearer definition of this ‘price’ you are tapdancing around.”_

 _“Twenty-percent of your current annual take and a part in any current or future dealings you might take part in with your…current business partners.”_ Hanzo said nonchalantly, staring into the whiskey to examine it.

Saito stood. _“Now it is_ my _turn to declare this meeting finished. I will not entertain such ludicrous terms.”_

 _“Do you honestly think your bosses would be alright with you leaving such an offer with the Yamamoto-gumi on the table like this?”_  Hanzo asked with a smirk. _“In total honesty, what you stand to gain would completely outweigh your losses. Do I need to remind you of our fiscal standings and number of business ventures?”_

The _kaikei_ looked lost in thought but eventually settled back into the seat. Hanzo noted a missing pinky on his right hand. He was obviously very aware of the punishment for foolish thinking. As if Hanzo’s attention made him more aware of it, he began to wring his hands together. It took him a minute to talk, but he sounded a bit more resigned when he did. Good.

_“And what would you be getting out of this?”_

_“I will not lie to you, Nakamura-san. These rumors have us very interested, given recent world events in Russia and elsewhere. Should something…_ ’occur,’ _we would like to be on the ground floor. And, despite being a rather paltry amount comparatively, twenty-percent of your gains is still enough to fund several of our endeavors.”_

 _“Twenty-percent will be highly debated, let me warn you,”_ Saito said. But he was still hesitating. Thinking. Despite his heart going a mile a minute, Hanzo was outwardly calm and confident, channeling his former clan-leader persona.

_“I will…discuss your terms. And bring them to the attention of concerned parties. Should interest continue, we will contact you.”_

Hanzo nodded. Not the _best_ he could have hoped for, but still better than a lot of other scenarios. He reached into his day-planner and retrieved a crisp off-white business card with two fingers. Thank god for online ordering systems and quick delivery.

_“My direct phone number. Kenichi-sama has requested that I handle this issue personally to avoid unnecessary talk amongst other parties. I would also request that we keep this…private. If we have become aware of your dealings, there is no telling who else would be interested as well. Kenichi-sama is not a sharing man.”_

Hanzo offered what he hoped was a smile but Saito’s grim expression did little to assure him. The archer was the first to stand, gathering his briefcase while Saito flipped his business card over and over between his fingers.

 _“Will you be in the area long?”_ Saito eventually asked, his voice a sudden calm drawl from the table. Hanzo couldn’t deny the way it raised his hackles, but he decided to hide it by putting his cigarette out on a square appetizer plate near the center candle.

 _“As long as I need to be,”_ Hanzo answered vaguely. _“Thank you for the drink. I look forward to our continued business.”_

 _“It is also odd…”_ Saito continued, freezing Hanzo in place. He eyed the _kaikei_ down over his reading glasses, scrutinizing the way he continued to twirl the business card. _“…we have heard our own share of rumors concerning the Yamamoto-gumi. One of which being that Kenichi-sama’s only son was unable to father children. Which would mean you shouldn’t exist.”_

Hanzo did his best to maintain his stiff expression. _That_ bit of information wouldn’t have shown up on the searches even if he’d been smart enough to look. Even Winston and Athena wouldn’t have been privy to information that was solely relegated to rumor and suspicion. His mind started reeling for an excuse. Adoption wouldn’t have worked – bloodlines meant everything. And Kenichi had no other children, which left even fewer options to work with. However…

 _“You are very astute, Saito-san,”_ Hanzo said, forcing his best ‘unimpressed’ expression. _“You must congratulate the gossiping hens you work with on their diligence._ ” He sighed heavily and adjusted his glasses, looking very put-upon. Saito looked like the cat that got the canary, but Hanzo was intent on ripping that expression right off his face.

_“Did these rumors also bring up that an heir was needed to inherit the Shinoda estate in the event of Kenichi-sama’s death and the death of his son? Surely even you are aware of the dangers of our profession.”_

Saito’s face fell flat and went a little pale. Hanzo continued, pouring as much confidence as he could into his lie.

_“Being a young but highly effective member of a trusted family and one deeply familiar with finances, I legally had my name changed and took the role myself. A legal gambit. Hardly anything of any interest to anyone besides you, it would seem.”_

_“I, uh…apologize, Shinoda-sama. Our intelligence told us nothing of this,”_ Saito stammered, standing to bow. _“I will…bring your offer to my superiors. Again, I deeply, deeply-“_

Hanzo raised a hand and turned his head in disgust. Saito’s jaw snapped shut.

_“Be quick. Your uncouth behavior has only limited my patience. I will await your call.”_

And, with that, Hanzo turned his back and strode out, deeply thanking the heavens and all that was holy that he’d been so quick on his feet. The whiskey in his belly made him feel warm, and he resisted the urge to order another. He had to be brisk to avoid losing his edge. If Saito witnessed him imbibing any more, he might assume he had a drinking problem. Not unusual amongst the _yakuza_ by any means, but enough to put a dent in any reputation he might have just built.

The air outside had gotten quite a bit cooler than it had been when he’d entered, despite it only having been an hour or so. The people on the street were fewer now, and after a couple of careful strides down the road, Hanzo felt confident enough to reach for his cell phone.

He dialed Mercy. He couldn’t trust himself to speak with McCree without emotion.

 _“Hello dear!”_ she said when she answered, sounding awfully cheery. She had to have been in public. The voices around her were copious and loud. _“How was your day?”_

“I made contact,” he stated simply. “No further information yet, but I am awaiting a phone call once he has determined our conversation to hold value. Which he will. I should have a location in a day or so.”

 _“Oh good! I’ve just been so busy I didn’t get around to calling them. But I’ll tell them you said hi!”_ Good. She would spread the word to the others. Hanzo hailed a cab with one hand and slid into the back with the phone still pressed to his ear.

“I will be in touch.”

And, with that, he hung up, unwilling to speak to her more than was necessary. He wondered where she was but then decided he didn’t care. It was dismissed entirely when the driver turned to eye him expectantly.

 _“The Shinjuku Plaza.”_ He said, shrugging off his stifling suit coat. He instantly felt better without the thicker fabric, but had to press his nails into his palms to resist the urge to shed the rest. The driver seemed nonplussed and turned back around, shrugging.

_“Okay. Got it.”_

Hanzo scrolled through his limited phone contacts until it settled on the initials JE. Joel Eastwood. _Jesse_. He let himself wonder where he was and if he was safe. Of course he was – he was Jesse McCree. It was silly to worry. So why was he _still_ worrying? Because he could have been halfway across Japan and he’d never know? Because there was really no way to get in touch with him without giving them both away? Because he couldn’t _get_ to him if he truly needed help? Because-

“Stop,” Hanzo muttered to himself, grimacing. The driver turned his head and raised a brow, but Hanzo waved him off and looked out the window. The driver shrugged again and continued down the road, tires bumping over cobblestones.

 

* * *

 

 

Saito was just exiting the bar as the taxi departed. He eyed the vehicle, took out his phone, and took another long drag of his short cigarette. The smoke lingered in the air a bit longer thanks to the cold.

“Guy’s an asshole,” he said once the person on the other end of the line answered. “But it’s definitely him. Wasn’t sure at first. Pretty good actor, but not _that_ good. He had this stupid lighter with him with a dragon on it. Dumbass didn’t even notice I picked up on it.

Not sure where he’s going but he just left. I said I would call him after I talked to you. Didn’t see anyone else.” He paused and listened, nodding to himself. “Yeah, tomorrow. Will you guys be ready?”

Another pause and a drag from his cigarette, then a nod. “Yep. Got it. No problem.”

He drew the phone away from his ear and pushed end. He let his cigarette drop to the curb and he kicked it with his toe.

“Shinoda heir my ass,” he chuckled, heading back the way he came.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just now beginning to realize that this fic is going to be like 30 fuckin' chapters. sorry in advance. lol i swear there will be actual action in the next chapter. JUST YOU WAIT.
> 
> i know i said it up there, buuuuut: 
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	21. The Hanamura Mission (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill. Comments and kudos appreciated always. <3 Tell me what you think!

He’d been sitting on the windowsill since six.

Being so far from home and with no line of direct communication besides a shitty cell phone had Jesse on edge. It was funny – everything _about_ this place seemed to scream relaxation; the bamboo gardens, the babbling streams that cut through between the traditional houses. Jesse felt like a bull in a china shop here. Like he was going to accidentally trip over a shrine or put his hand through one of those fancy paper doors. So, he did what he always did to calm his nerves.

He smoked.

It had been expressly forbidden in the hotel room. They’d told him that a hundred times in their soft, polite voices. But _fuck it_. He was there to help save the place. They could send him the bill later.

But he could still be a _little_ cordial about it, and do it out the window.

He had hooked one leg over the side and straddled the sill when he’d lit his cigarillo. The smoke was dense and heavy and took a while to float away. Jesse tried his hand at forming rings with it. It didn’t work. He gave up.

Hanzo hadn’t called. Not that he could blame him. He couldn’t afford to break character for a second or risk them all in the backlash. But Jesse still _wanted_ him to. Desperately. If Jesse had thought he’d been worried in Siberia, this was ten times worse. Was he alright? Was he scared? Probably not. This was _Hanzo_ he was talking about. Stone incarnate. But that was the thing about irrational fears – they were _irrational_. Images of Hanzo pacing around his own room, wherever that was, stressed and alone filled Jesse’s head. How would he know if he needed him? How would he be able to help?

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just… _check_. Just a minute or two. If he was busy, he wouldn’t answer. Easy.

Jesse scraped his cigar butt on the side of the building by stretching his arm out. He then crammed it into one of those complimentary glasses they gave out and left it there. The room was so damn small, it took barely three steps to get to the side table. The cell phone was hefty in his hand – a far cry from the sleek new designs they were making these days. He chewed the side of his cheek, scrolled through his contacts until he reached Shinoda.

And he just stared.

This was probably a mistake. He was compromising everything just to hear his boyfriend’s – _boyfriend’s?-_ voice. And Hanzo would be pissed. With a heavy, full-body sigh, he sank onto the short bed and tapped the phone against his metal fingers. This was stupid. He was an agent for an organization that was set out to _save the world_. A professional. There was no reason why he had to-

It rang.

Jesse fumbled the phone and just _barely_ avoided dropping it entirely, letting the thing fall into his lap. It was Shinoda. _Hanzo._ He had never pressed ‘answer’ faster in his life.

But he had to steal himself. Someone could be listening over Hanzo’s shoulder. He had to play it cool even though he felt as giddy as a schoolgirl.

“…you’ve got Eastwood.” Smooth, Jesse. Real smooth.

_“Jesse.”_

A sudden wave of relief washed over him at the even tone that greeted him on the other end. It was like a roll of thunder during a storm. Jesse knotted his fingers in his hair and pulled it away from his face.

“Han. Take it you’re alone. You alright?”

_“I am fine…for now. I trust Mercy updated you about yesterday. The contact called me again this morning and requested another meeting with a few others to discuss the details of the merger negotiations. I…I wanted to let you know first.”_

That gave Jesse room for pause.

“Got a feelin’ this ain’t just a business call,” he said. “You sure you’re alright, sug?”

Now Hanzo paused. The speaker on his end crackled as he breathed softly into it.

 _“I want you with me, Jesse. Not together obviously but…I do not know who else will be in attendance. I am entering this blindly.”_ He _was_ pacing – Jesse could hear it. His mental image hadn’t been too far off after all. _“You have skills conducive to this sort of-“_

“It’s okay t’say you miss me, darlin’,” Jesse snickered lightly, cutting him off. “I miss you too.”

 _“You are ridiculous. It has barely been two days,”_ Hanzo said, though he sounded like he was smiling. Another long pause. Hanzo was considering something. Eventually, it came out. _“…I do miss you. I want you near.”_

“There it is,” Jesse grinned. “Knew Shinoda had a softer side in there somewhere.”

 _“The meeting will be in three hours at the Mayonaka Club for a late lunch,”_ Hanzo explained, ignoring the comment. _“The accountant, Saito, will be there to facilitate, but when I pressed him on the others, he remained vague. General code of conduct dictates the second meeting be attended by a lawyer, the accountant, and an emissary appointed by the head. Turnover is high in these positions – I will not know their identities until I arrive.”_

Jesse checked the clock by the bed. It was ten. He’d have enough time to make himself presentable, grab some food and maybe ask for directions.

“I’ll be there, you can count on it. Probably before you. Keep that phone handy and an eye open for the _disgustingly_ handsome gentleman at the bar. Try t’keep those animal instincts in check. I _know_ how you get.”

 _“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous,”_ Hanzo snorted, earning another wide grin from Jesse. _“…be safe.”_ Click. He’d hung up.

But oh, Jesse was floating on a cloud. The anticipation of imminent danger had his head swimming and the short conversation with Hanzo made him feel warm. He practically jogged into the shower to scrub himself down head to toe, whistling as he went. _Finally,_ something to do. Maybe he’d even get a chance to see a little action. Toss out a few witty one-liners. Shoot someone. He and Hanzo, partners in battle, taking down the bad guys. Together.

His trigger finger itched. This mission was shaping up.

 

* * *

 

 

The Mayonaka Club was _definitely_ not his taste. Too fancy-pants. Too highbrow. He felt underdressed, even though he knew he wasn’t there to impress. This was a stake-out. He needed to blend in, or at least be annoying enough that people would _consciously_ try to ignore him. Well, Jesse McCree could do a lot of things, but these days blending wasn’t one of them. So that only left one option.

“Mind gettin’ this poor tourist a drink, beautiful?” he drawled to the girl behind the bar, resting his elbows up and shooting her his most charming smile. She looked up from where she was stacking glasses, eyed the clock, but smiled primly regardless and sauntered over.

“What will you be having, sir?” she asked, smoothing down her folded black apron. Her nametag said Yui. She looked young, at least in Jesse’s opinion – probably her mid-twenties. He felt a little sleazy laying it on like this, but hey, this wasn’t Jesse McCree anymore. Joel Eastwood didn’t have those kinds of hang-ups.

“Hmm,” he mused, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. He made sure she was watching. Her blush said she was. Good. “Whatcha got in the way of whiskey? Haven’t been here long enough to develop a taste for…what’s it called?”

“Sake?” she asked with a smile, already preparing a glass. “It is not to everyone’s tastes. Americans rarely enjoy it on the first taste, in my experience. Where are you from?”

“Texas,” he supplied, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “Heard my talents might be appreciated out here, so I hopped a plane.”

Small-talk. Perfect. He could come up with some bullshit answers, sip his drink, and keep his eye on the seats and the door. He’d strategically taken a spot on the corner, with a perfect view of the back exit, half of the kitchen, and the front door. There was probably another exit upstairs somewhere. Four windows in sight and the change in light meant there were more up there, blocked by the bannisters. Plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in case of a firefight. He could work with this.

“Guitar?” she asked, reaching to grab a bottle from high on the shelf. Shit, he should have been more specific. This was gonna cost him a pretty penny. Well, no turning back now. At least it’d encourage him to sip instead of gulp.

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a grin. “Pretty good at it too, if y’don’t mind me sayin’ so. I’ve had a few gigs round here so far, but I’m always lookin’ for new work. You let your boss know if he’s lookin’ to attract some attention to look me up.”

“I am not sure this is the right establishment,” she laughed, sounding like a little bird. She slid his drink over and McCree examined it, swirling the liquid to bide his time. Through the glass he could make out the other patrons. A couple near the exit, the man reading his newspaper and the wife playing with her phone. Two businessmen at the far end of the bar, speaking hurriedly and exuberantly about an article in a magazine. He couldn’t understand it, but they didn’t _look_ like two _yakuza_ waiting for a meeting.

No, _that_ distinction was left to the men at the shady table by the grand piano to the far left of him.

He sipped and used the movement to allow him to take in their appearance.

Hanzo had been right – there were three. One was younger than the other two, with a shitty black dragon curling up his throat. His face was a lot more expressive as he spoke in hushed tones, poking a chunk of tofu in his soup with his chopsticks. The one facing Jesse’s direction was older – probably his early sixties, with sagging eyes and pockmarks in his cheeks. He was playing with his wedding band distractedly, chewing on a toothpick. A distinctive shadow at his hip meant he was packing. _Great._

The third was the one who made Jesse the most nervous by far. He was gaunt, like a corpse, with hunched posture and pulled features. He was shorter than the other two, but infinitely less fidgety. In fact, he was almost completely still, watching the younger man across from him eat his soup. His hair was slicked back. He, too, was packing a gun. A red dragon tattoo poked out across the top of his hand from under the suit sleeve. He was missing his ear. The only real Shimada of the bunch. The only one who could potentially toss a dragon into this situation.

The girl, Yui, had asked him another question. He raised his eyebrows and swallowed the mouth full of whiskey on his tongue.

“It’s good,” he said, guessing her words. That did the trick, because she smiled and nodded.

“It is very popular. I am glad you enjoy it. Will you be needing a food menu?”

Better be safe than sorry. “Well I ain’t never turned down decent grub before. Sure, darlin’.”

She bowed her head lightly and slid the menu over to him before her attention was drawn by the two men arguing at the other end. McCree looked it over, only half paying attention. Most of it was shit he’d never seek out on his own – sea urchin and black sturgeon with a wasabi chantilly. Duck confit and lamb sous vide over a bed of arugula. It all looked way too pretentious to even be real. Didn’t anywhere just have a damn _burger_ anymore? Oh. Looks like they did – dry-aged elk and black truffle with gruyere cheese on a bun that was probably made of goddamn gold. What the _fuck_.

The front door opened as he was perusing. His eyes flicked up, lingered, and then bolted back down to his menu. It was Hanzo, looking as deadly and dangerous as his reputation made him out to be. Everything about him was sharp like this – the unyielding straightness of his posture to the crispness of his suit. His brow settled darkly over the delicate glasses that rested near the center of that hawkish nose.

And _hell_ , he was wearing _gloves._ Why did that make things that much hotter? Acutely aware of the archer’s presence, he could hear the way the leather bent as he gripped his briefcase’s handle and strode in like he owned the place. Barely a hair on his head moved, like it was afraid of upsetting the owner of the head it sat on. Jesse wanted to stare and was completely positive Hanzo’s ass looked _fantastic._

But Yui was back and Hanzo had begun issuing his greetings to the table in the back. Jesse could tell he was keeping things stiff and formal, even without being able to understand Japanese.

“Do you need any help with the menu?” she asked, trying her best to draw his attention.  Jesse was grateful for it, in some small way, because it distracted him from the way he was thinking about the things he could do with that fucking tie around Hanzo’s neck. _Really? On a mission?_ Incorrigible.

“I gotta ask, sweetness,” he chuckled, urged on by the tinge of a blush on her cheeks from the pet name. “Don’t ya’ll got anythin’…a little _less_ …”

“Fancy?” she supplied, bringing her fingers to her lips to suppress her smile. “Once again, I’m afraid you _might_ be in the wrong establishment.”

“Aw, c’mon…” he wheedled, using his puppy dog eyes. “I’m just a simple country boy, here. Just lookin’ for somethin’ to sink my teeth into that ain’t gonna be served with a diamond.”

“The steak is relatively simple,” she said, sounding a little flustered. “I’m sure I could ask the chef to leave off the accoutrements. It would make his job easier, after all.”

Another sip of his whiskey and he blinded her with a grin. “That’d do the trick.”

“How do you take it?”

“Rare, honey. Still mooin’.”

She nodded and slid the menu away. McCree was quite happy with himself. Shit, he hadn’t even given her his _name_ and he was sure he’d have a napkin slid his way with her number by the end of this. But now wasn’t the time. Hanzo and the three others were already deeply embroiled in conversation.

He felt a buzz in his pocket. Probably Mercy asking for an update. He glanced at the screen. _Shinoda._ What?

He fought the urge to look up in confusion but curiosity eventually got the better of him. Digging into the pocket of his jean jacket, he pulled out a tangled pair of headphones, plugged them into the jack and pressed ‘answer’.

 _“You bastards have some nerve asking for twenty-percent…”_ came a voice. McCree flicked his eyes over and swallowed hard and then looked back down into his drink.

 _“It is a standard offer,”_ answered Hanzo, cool as a cucumber. Ah, so that was his game. Cautioning another look, McCree could barely see Hanzo’s hand sneaking out of the pocket of his suit jacket that hung on the back of the chair. Now McCree could listen. How he’d gotten them to agree to speak in English was a damned miracle, but Jesse was too busy silently spouting praises about his partner’s genius to really care. Hanzo continued, not missing a beat.

_“And as I told Saito-san, you would be the ones benefitting most from this bargain. You would gain a large portion of our western trade routes as well as a third of our bookmakers’ takes east of Tokyo.”_

_“Two-thirds,”_ came the voice again. It had to be the older one. The skinny fellow to Hanzo’s right hadn’t spoken a word yet. _“East of Tokyo leaves us with nothing but Chiba and there’s fucking nothing out there. To make this shit worth our while we want two-thirds.”_

 _“Yokohama would be included, I presume? That area is a bit more promising. They showed interest in having a casino built once the legislature turns around.”_ This was the younger guy, still fishing around in his soup for the last remnants of tofu and chewing while he spoke. McCree could only _guess_ what Hanzo’s expression looked like right then and it almost made him laugh.

 _“I am sure it could be arranged,”_ Hanzo said, ever-patient. _“Provided you agree to our terms as well.”_

 _“Of course.”_ That was the skinny man. McCree immediately referred to him as ‘the Eel’ – his voice was as slippery as the rest of him looked. _“It is only fair we show our new partners as much trust as we expect from them.”_

McCree thought he saw Hanzo twitch in his seat, but he must have imagined it. Instead he watched as he reached into his pocket, drew out a cigarette and lit it – a tell that he was stressed. But they didn’t need to know that.

 _“Two-thirds of the bookmaker’s takes east of Tokyo including Yokohama. Fine. But we need specifics on the trade routes. You can’t just say ‘a chunk’ – that tells us fucking nothing. And before we agree to anything, I’ll need this paperwork on my fucking desk with detailed terms so I can give it to the Boss. I’m not going to let you pompous fucks screw us out of anything.”_ This had to be the lawyer – the older one who had been playing with his ring. He was glaring hard at Hanzo and had his eyes narrowed. In fact, they’d been that way since he’d sat down. But that was to be expected – rival clans were rivals for a reason.

 _“Of course not,”_ Hanzo said easily, waving the hand that held the cigarette to dissuade his worries. _“Though paperwork of that nature will take time. Shinoda-sama requested some sort of proof before we entered into any sort of legal arrangement, and I am inclined to agree. After all, this entire conversation rests solely on rumor and speculation.”_

 _“No fucking way!”_ the lawyer growled, slamming a clenched fist down on the table with a clattering bang that made the other patrons glance over.

It had started to get rather crowded since McCree had sat down – looked like folks gathering in before a show or a stroll on the town. It was still too early for dinner in his honest opinion, but the weather had been a bit cold. It just made everything all the more problematic – when there _had_ been a clear path between he and Hanzo, now people lingered and chatted. Too many civilians now to go guns-blazing.

“Your steak, sir,” Yui said suddenly, snapping McCree’s attention away and making him startle.

“Oh, shit. Thanks, darlin’,” he said, taking out his headphone to avoid suspicion. He glanced down at his plate and saw the _smallest_ hunk of meat that anyone could dare call a steak, along with seasoned asparagus and whipped potatoes. Yui looked pleased and expectant, and feeling her eyes on him, McCree immediately dug in. _Damn_ it was good. Tiny, but fucking good. Like Hanzo. This was Hanzo as a steak.

“Cooked to your liking?” she asked after a second, of course choosing the moment his mouth was full. He swallowed and made an exaggerated groaning noise, having to speak a bit louder over the dull hum of the patrons filing in.

“Compliments to the chef, lil’ lady,” he said with a smile, reaching up to tip his hat but remembering it wasn’t there. She giggled and bowed and was distracted again. As soon as she was gone, McCree popped the headphone back in. Scrolled through his phone as if looking for music.

 _“Asahi, you are being unkind to our guest,”_ the Eel said, making McCree’s skin crawl. _“What’s the big deal? We’ll take him to the warehouse. Have him meet our other new friends. It would only take a few minutes from here. It’s hardly off the beaten path.”_

Warehouse. Got it. And it was close – near the main road. That made things easier. This was a small, traditional area outside of where they were. There couldn’t be too many warehouses around. He needed to tell Mercy. Trying not to appear in too much of a hurry, McCree slipped out the headphones and pocketed them. He put Hanzo’s call on hold.

“Mind if I step out for a smoke?” he asked Yui, earning a playful wink.

“Only if you promise to come back and pay your tab, Tex.”

“And miss your pretty face? Never.” Still got it.

People were milling about on the street – too many for McCree’s tastes. Pulling his jacket up around his neck a bit, he slid into the thin alleyway near a dumpster and ducked down a little. No one really gave a rats ass about the American smoking anyway, so he was in the clear.

Mercy picked up on the first ring.

 _“Hello, darling! So good to hear from you!”_ Was the ever _not_ in public around here?

“It’s in a warehouse. Near the Market District,” he said, his voice clipped. “If I get more I’ll let you know, but I figured it’d be enough to start.”

 _“Sounds good! Your sisters can’t wait to see you,”_ she cooed, making McCree roll his eyes. _“Oh, but I’m so sorry dear, I’m a bit tied up at the moment. I’ll call you back later, okay?”_

A bit tied up? Okay, that was odd, but maybe McCree just wasn’t up to date on her lingo. Eager to get back to the conversation inside, McCree grunted in reply, clicked ‘end’ and plugged the headphones back in.

He slid back up onto the barstool and poked at his steak while he stared at the screen. Pretend to scroll, pretend to scroll, all the while occasionally catching Yui’s curious gaze and offering a satisfied smile. Okay, she was starting to get annoying. Cute, but annoying. One of those servers that _hovered_ while you ate. He hated that.

 _“You must be fucking kidding.”_ Shit, what’d he miss?

 _“I am afraid not,”_ Hanzo said, forcing himself to sound as unhappy as they were. _“Shinoda-sama has very limited patience when it comes to deals of this nature, and I am not much better, admittedly. Your presentation would need to be done as soon as possible, or the deal is off the table.”_

 _“You came to_ us _and now you’re pressuring us for time?”_ the lawyer growled, his mouth a tight frown. He obviously had a short temper. Saito was quiet, simply watching the exchange. _“We aren’t even sure if we’re taking your fucking deal yet, not to mention-“_

 _“It’s fine,”_ the Eel interrupted, resting his chin on his hand.

_“Touma-sama, I don’t-“_

_“He wants to see what we have? Fine. Let him see.”_

The conversation went quiet. McCree pressed the headphone in closer to his ear, looked down at his phone. He was still connected, but there was no sound. No speaking, anyway. He could suddenly hear the slight shuffling of cloth against the speaker, the scrape of a chair against tile. What?

He dared look up. All four were still at the table, but Hanzo was stiff as a board. McCree could only see his back, but could distinctly see the thick black gun pressed against his side in the Eel’s grip. But Hanzo wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he wasn’t looking at the men at the table at all. He had his head tilted to look up, and McCree followed, instinctively reaching for the guitar case he’d rested on the floor near the bar.

That’s when he noticed.

He hadn’t seen them come in with the others – the dead-eyed people in plain clothes that remained positioned near the doors. They’d trickled in with the growing crowd, men and women alike, using the myriad of faces as camouflage. Three near the front, two near the back, four or five upstairs. They were grouped together, faces passive and blank. They pretended to chat like the others, but that was all it was – _pretend._ Their mouths moved in nothing but a mockery of human speech, their attention elsewhere. It only took a second for McCree to put two and two together when one of them reached up and pressed two fingers to his ear. A comm.

 _Talon_.

The black figure in the hood that appeared amidst the crowd on the balcony made his blood run cold. Hanzo had locked eyes with him.

It all happened in an instant. The table where the four had been sitting was flipped and a shot glass was unceremoniously _smashed_ into the eye socket of the man with the gun. It cracked and filled with blood, the Eel yowling in anguish and firing into the air. The civilians panicked and ducked, pushing past each other for the nearest exit. Hanzo got the gun and fired – a quick shot to the head and one to the heart downed the lawyer and the accountant, sending them sprawling backwards onto the flat black tile.

The Eel was quicker, even with glass in his face. He had another firearm tucked into his waistband and whipped it out, aiming for the archer and firing blindly. Shots ricocheted and Hanzo was moving, downing him with a sweep of the leg before dashing behind cover with his briefcase.

McCree looked back up while he fumbled with his guitar case and opened it. The Reaper had disappeared.

“Han!” McCree shouted, spinning Peacekeeper’s cylinder to check his rounds. Of course he’d loaded it before he’d left, but he had to be sure. Six bullets for six bodies. Time to line ‘em up. 

Hanzo peeked his head out from behind his overturned table and locked eyes with the cowboy for just a second, blood marring his once pristine white shirt. A bullet flaked the wood away right by his head and he ducked back out of the way.

“Get high, Han! I can take ‘em down here!”

McCree was already on it, clenching his muscles and clearing his head. People were still struggling to get out, a few having been caught in the crossfire. Yui’s body laid next to him on the floor, a stray bullet having torn through her cheek. _Fuck._ _Sorry kid. Looks like I ain’t payin’ that tab._

He saw the archer make a break for it and it was now or never. Jesse saw red. Two of the Talon agents had their eyes on Hanzo, their automatics poised to take the shot. They never made it.

Six bullets for six bodies. They fell like cherry blossom petals, crumpling to the floor in bloody pools.

Hanzo leapt into a flight of stairs and rushed up, at some point having kicked off his loafers for better traction. McCree continued to return fire, his eye smarting and his head pounding like a hammer on an anvil. His vision was blurry but his hands steadily reloaded while he kept his eyes out for the Reaper. Nothing. The prick had to be around – McCree made sure to check his blind spots. Still nothing.

He rolled out to fan out three more bullets into three more assailants. One to the chest, one to the head and one to the neck. Blood sprayed out behind them and misted the back walls. Screams still echoed, but there were less now. Either the majority had escaped or McCree’s pulse was drowning them out in his ears. The Eel was shuffling to stand, clutching at his eye while blood spewed from the wound. McCree looked up and around.

Where were the goddamn arrows? McCree was doing this on his own as far as he could see. Not a single pale shaft stuck into the expensive wood or out of the back of an attacker. There were no telltale _thwack_ s coming from the balcony.

Something was wrong.

“Han! Gettin’ kinda lonely down here!” McCree shouted up, downing another man by spinning him at the shoulder. He pistol-whipped the Eel and knocked a few teeth out in the process, made sure he was out but not dead, and moved on. They’d need to question someone, he could hear Gabe say -Blackwatch basics 101.

The excitement dulled along with the ringing in McCree’s ears as he took the stairs slowly, Peacekeeper pointed upwards in a tight grip. He checked the corner when he got to the top. No one. The balcony was empty. He could only hear the groans from the unlucky sons of bitches that had gotten caught in the crossfire downstairs. He pressed his back to the opposite wall and moved steadily, eyes focused for any sign of a blue tattoo, black hair, or pale skin. When he saw the briefcase, his heart jumped into his throat. Any second he’d turn the corner and Hanzo would be lying there, hurt or worse, and McCree would have let it happen.

Jesse decided to take it like pulling off a bandage. He moved quickly and quietly, his breath stuck in his lungs.

He wasn’t there. No Hanzo. No Reaper. No one with a gun ready to kill him.

But there was blood.

The case was open, clothes strewn about and kicked into the railing of the balcony haphazardly, a spray of blood in a neat line across it. McCree knelt to look, and felt like he was going to throw up. No trail led away. No footprints or trace of Hanzo.

There was only black smoke.

It clung to the broken remnants of the bow which had been crushed under something thick, like a bootheel, the arrows fallen in a pile nearby. As if sensing Jesse’s presence, it dissipated, floating away from where it clung to the droplets of blood and torn bits of cloth by his feet.

Hanzo was gone.

“No. No, no, no, _no,”_ McCree snarled, snapping up to kick down the nearest door. A bathroom. Nothing.

 ** _“_** Fuck! **_Fuck!”_ ** The next door – a private dining room. Nothing. Then the next, another dining room with a billiards table. Nothing. Again and again and again he tried until doors lined the halls with broken hinges and splintered wood.

The final door looked over the back of the restaurant. In it there was an open window. The curtains blew in the breeze. McCree lurched forward and forced his upper half out the window. There was blood under his fingertips. _Hanzo’s_ blood.

"Goddamn it, _**please** -"  _Nothing. There was nothing there.

His phone. He could call his phone – trace it. Track him down. This couldn’t happen. Not while he was there to protect him. Not to Hanzo. Not to _him._

_'We're in this together, right?'  
_

He barreled down the stairs and grabbed his discarded jacket, his once steady hands shaking as they scrolled through the contacts. Come on, Hanzo. _Come on._ It started ringing.

There was a buzz a few feet away. McCree had ice in his veins.

Hanzo’s sports jacket was on the floor, dotted with blood and tissue. McCree walked to it, in a daze, and clumsily dug through the pocket.

There was Hanzo’s phone.

A gurgled laugh at his feet drew him out of whatever path he’d been heading down and the cowboy roared, yanking the downed Eel up by his collar and slamming him into the wall. The injured man coughed blood into his face. McCree punched him.

 _“Where is he?!”_ he screamed, seeing spots of red in one eye. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. This couldn’t be happening. _This couldn’t be happening._

“A deal for a deal…” he coughed again, laughing in a wheeze through the bloody gaps in his teeth. “We take care of a problem, _they_ take care of a problem…”

“Answer my _fucking question_!” McCree slapped him hard and shook him by the shoulders.

“Going to _suffer_ …has to suffer…” He laughed again, blood filling his lungs little by little. “The great dragon of the south wind will _fall_ like the _bastard-“_

McCree shot him. It was too much. The ringing in his ears, the bloody girl behind the bar, the darkness in his eye and the panic in his heart. The Eel slid down the wall and McCree watched him do it. Watched the blood trail down after him like it was chasing the wound.

He sank to his knees. This couldn’t be happening. He saw Gabe’s face in the back of his head – there and gone in a flash. It was repeating. Hanzo was there, then gone in a flash. This couldn’t be happening. _This couldn’t be-_

A buzz in his hand pulled him out of it. He looked down. It was Mercy.

Bloody, trembling fingers pushed ‘answer.’

_“McCree?”_

He didn’t answer right away, staring straight ahead and burning a hole into the wall. The drumbeat of his pulse in his ears nearly drowned her out.

_“Jesse? Are you there? Are you okay? I need you to answer me…”_

“Hanzo’s gone,” he said, his voice numb. “He’s gone, Ang. I let him…I let _them…”_

_“McCree. I need you to listen to me. Where are you? Is Hanzo…is he…did you check for vitals or-“_

“He’s fucking _gone_ , Ang!” he cried in anguish, his voice breaking. “They took him! They fuckin’ took him! He was only gone for a second! _A fucking second!”_

 _“Tell me where you are, McCree!”_ she suddenly commanded, her voice having lost any of that awkward timber.

“Mayonaka Club. Market District,” he said, pressing his hands over his eyes. “They were here, Ang. Talon was here. They took him.”

_“Yeah…we…we know, Jesse. Just please stay calm, okay? We’re coming to you. I’ll be there soon. And I’ll have…company.”_

The phone shuffled a bit, drawn away, and a heavy sigh crackled into it. A female voice with a Hispanic accent hummed a little. There was a bit of a struggle and a soft curse, Mercy instructing whoever it was to speak or risk getting shot. The click of a gun was enough incentive.

_“Hola, vaquero. Looks like I’ll be crashing at your place tonight.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ramp closed and the cabin was bathed in darkness. The black helicopter had never even touched down. A line had been extended down to the battleground of the restaurant. Reaper and his cargo climbed it with ease. He threw down the heavy thing over his shoulder with a thud. Two metal prosthetic legs clanged in after them, like garbage down a chute.

The man he'd brought was unconscious. Bleeding from the forehead where he'd cracked the blunt end of his shotgun into him. 

"Cherie, you weren't supposed to touch his face," cooed the sultry female voice from inside. "He wanted to keep him...pretty."

"Let the boys in the lab deal with it," Reaper growled behind the mask, smoke puffing out at his feet with each breath. "He wasn't going down without a little struggle."

"I can see that," she purred back without a hint of mirth. A pause. "They got Sombra."

"No great loss," he shrugged. "We've got a replacement."

He knelt down beside the unconscious man, cocking his head to the side like a curious owl before extending long clawed fingers to retrieve some rope. The woman in the dark turned her attention away, uninterested.

"You should have just come willingly," he whispered, binding his wrists together. "But now you'll have it your way. You're gonna be a lot of things, Dragon, but you _won't_ be pretty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C:<
> 
>  
> 
> Wanna say hi? I have a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com


	22. Fallen Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill. lemme know what you think. 
> 
> like it? kudos or comments, please. I literally sit here after i post these chapters and push refresh over and over. because i'm pathetic.  
> REALLY like it? I have a ko-fi page: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy  
> since i dont have a job right now, any donation would really help me out. 
> 
> i also have a tumblr: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com
> 
> EDIT: There was some confusing language at the bottom of the chapter, so I added a few lines. Sorry for any confusion!

_“Jesse…”_

_Sunlight peeked through the meager window and into the cowboy’s eyes and he grumbled, his voice coarse with sleep. He shoved his face into the warm surface he was wrapped around and nuzzled it with his face. He was greeted with a warm laugh and his makeshift pillow shook with it._

_“Your beard is entering lumberjack territory, Jesse McCree.”_

_“Mmph…s’too early for you t’be mean to me an’ my facial hair…” he rumbled in reply, burying his face deeper into Hanzo’s neck._

_“It is nearly noon, Jesse,” he laughed again, squirming in his grip. Jesse wiggled his fingertips into the archer’s ribs just to goad him into laughing louder. Learning that he’d been ticklish was a never-ending source of amusement now. He only stopped when Hanzo’s fingers threaded through his hair and lightly raked over his scalp._

_“We have to get up.”_

_McCree groaned loudly and went limp, doing his best to play dead. He heard the cluck of Hanzo’s tongue and the slight shift and creak of the mattress. He was going to try and extricate himself from McCree’s languid hold. No way, Jos_ _é. He wasn’t losing his fancy pillow that easily._

_Like a sack of potatoes, McCree flopped over the archer and used his weight to pin him. For once, he was happy about that extra bulk he’d built up over the years. Hanzo let out a startled ‘oof!’ and then barked out a hard laugh. Jesse grinned in triumph and faked a loud snore._

_“We cannot stay in bed all day, Jesse. You are still four hours short on your training quota.” Hanzo was doing his best to stay serious even though his fingertips were tracing McCree’s spine under his shirt._

_“You’re so cute when you’re tryin’ t’be responsible.”_

_“Well one of us has to be.”_

_“Ouch. Honeybee has his stinger out today,” McCree chuckled, lifting his head to plant a sloppy kiss on Hanzo’s shoulder. “You tellin’ me you’d rather go out and train instead of hangin’ in bed with me? I’m hurt, babycakes. Damn hurt.”_

_Hanzo was quiet for a moment. McCree could tell what each of Hanzo’s pauses meant now. This one was a deliberation. The cowboy smiled to himself, knowing victory was imminent even before the archer said as much. Eventually he felt him settle back down. “…five more minutes.”_

_“There it is,” McCree grinned, moving off him to curl back up at his side. When his head fell heavily against Hanzo’s chest and he tucked under his chin, the archer sighed contentedly and let his eyes close. His even breathing was starting to soothe McCree back into a doze, but Hanzo’s voice drew him back up out of it._

_“I am going to get fat and lazy at this rate,” Hanzo muttered, issuing a jaw-cracking yawn. “You are a terrible influence.”_

_“Mm, I think I can live with that if it means I get t’lay on you,” Jesse smiled. “’Sides, you might look good with a lil’ pudge. Stop makin’ the rest of us look bad.”_

_“Never going to happen, cowboy,” Hanzo said, tugging a lock of Jesse’s hair in rebuke. His fingers ghosted their way down to his love handle and gave it a little squeeze. “Though pudge does look good on you. Soon you might have enough for both of us.”_

_“Hey!” Jesse sputtered, sitting up to Hanzo’s smug face. When Hanzo laughed, McCree’s eyes narrowed. “Them’s fightin’ words, archer.”_

_“Oh, I am terrified. The big lazy cowboy is going to-,” Hanzo was silenced when a pillow was thrown at his face with a thump. Now it was McCree’s turn to laugh, especially when Hanzo smirked and grabbed the pillow at his lower back to return the favor. They tossed pillows at each other and tussled around until the blankets were tangled and Jesse was hanging off the side of the bed. It only ended when his ass hit the floor._

_Slowly and silently, he tilted his head back to fix Hanzo with a confused blink. Both dissolved into laughter when their eyes met, their shoulders shaking. Hanzo’s eyes were crinkled at the corners with unrestrained mirth._

_“Well, look who is out of bed,” he managed, lying down on his stomach and folding his arms to cradle his chin. “I suppose this means it is time for training.”_

_“Meaner than a hornets’ nest…” Jesse groused. Then, after a beat: “…you really think I’m startin’ to get a lil’ too meaty ‘round the middle?”_

_Hanzo rolled his eyes and leaned forward to kiss the tip of McCree’s nose. It made the gunslinger blink, but his face cracked into a smile anyway. Rare instances of affection like this from Hanzo always made his insides go all warm and fuzzy. The archer used it to his advantage and rose to step past him and into the center of the room for a stretch._

_“You are a silly man, Jesse McCree,” he groaned, his back cracking. “How a man who wears a horse blanket everywhere he goes can still manage to care so much about his appearance is beyond me.”_

_“Oh, that is **it.”**_

_Hanzo only had a second to let out a garbled laugh before he was thrown over McCree’s shoulder and chucked back onto the bed. He bounced once and was pinned again, his giggling silenced by a pair of grinning lips. Neither seemed to care about their morning breath this time around._

_They curled back up with each other not long after, basking like fat geckos under the warm sunlight. No one on base saw hide nor hair of Jesse McCree or Hanzo Shimada until close to two in the afternoon._

* * *

 

One call from the SAT phone and a shuttle was heading there way. It took some hasty clean-up work and half a day of hiding, but eventually their rescue called to meet on the outskirts of town. Winston was striding down the ramp to face a bloodied and distraught cowboy, a frowning doctor, two clueless agents and a very irritable looking hacker with her hands bound behind her.

Jesse refused to leave at first. Clutching at Hanzo’s discarded jacket, he fought tooth and nail to get back out there. Take the girls and leave, he’d said. He could do this on his own. All he needed was a change of clothes and a direction to start walking. Hanzo was out there somewhere. They could still be close by. They didn’t have time to wait.

In the end, they’d needed sedatives to calm him down enough to strap him into a seat. Mercy knew the look in his eye from years of experience. Panic attacks were hardly uncommon in their line of work, but McCree’s were always a force to be reckoned with. She felt loathsome jabbing him with a needle while he was distracted, but there was no other way around it. They had a dangerous prisoner, a bomb and a long way to go until they were home – the last thing they needed was a hysterical man wielding a gun in the cabin.

Winston tried his hand at questioning their new passenger after he’d helped load McCree. The girl looked nonplussed, an eyebrow arched and jaw squared. After about a half hour of nothing, the scientist gave up. Interrogation had never quite been his thing and it was obvious to everyone on board, including the one he was supposed to be interrogating.

Jesse was in and out of consciousness all the way back to the Watchpoint. Sombra still refused to speak a single iota and no one felt comfortable speaking around her, so the aircraft was filled with nothing but silence. Only the occasional bump of turbulence jostled the crew into action, and even then, it was minimal. Tracer and Mei passed notes to each other on scraps of paper. Mercy sat with Sombra to keep a close eye on her, but still threw Winston her fair share of concerned looks as he examined the dangerous contraband they’d confiscated. The trip ended up being one of the most uncomfortable rides back since the recall had been initiated.

The other agents were all waiting when they landed. Mercy and Lucio helped a still-groggy cowboy to the med bay, his arms draped over their shoulders to keep him steady. Neither dared take the black suit jacket from his fist.

Reinhardt took the liberty of ‘escorting’ Sombra to her new quarters – an old, unfurnished dorm that was in one of the older parts of the base. Although there was no guarantee that it couldn’t happen, Winston had asked Athena to set the room’s functions to manual to prevent a breach. Sombra’s equipment and superfluous clothing were confiscated, she was shoved inside, and the door was locked. Guard duty would be on rotation from then on out, changing every six hours. Standard protocol. That was that. The bomb was small enough to relocate to Winston’s lab. There wasn’t a timer or detonator that he could see, but he would need time and careful assessment to determine how to disarm it. If it were even possible.

No one mentioned Hanzo yet. The shock was too new. Too real. Genji disappeared without a word. He did not return for several hours, just in time for the de-briefing. If anyone noticed the tears in the material over his knuckles or the way steam hissed from the vents in his suit a bit louder than normal, they didn’t say anything.

McCree was markedly absent despite having left the med bay hours earlier. No one mentioned that either.

“Who wants to start?” Winston asked, sitting this time with his fingers steepled. His full attention was directed towards the participating agents instead of on a tablet or document. It was hard to tell if he was disappointed or just merely walking on eggshells for their benefit. Whatever it was, it made the sitting agents shrink a little in their seats. Angela took it upon herself to begin by clearing her throat.

“Hanzo contacted the alleged Shimada-gumi _kaikei_ in the evening of the first day – a man named Saito Nakamura. The meeting, from my understanding, was tense but successful. Hanzo was left with the impression that it had been heading in the right direction. So much so that he gladly accepted an invitation the following day to meet again.”

“What was the rest of the team doing during all of this?” Winston asked, unusually curt.

“Just waiting, really,” Lena said, chewing her lower lip. “Wasn’t much else to do until we got a call to act. Hanzo never really said much to us except for the occasional call to Angie about developments.”

“I pursued my own lead,” Angela said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of water from a clear plastic cup in front of her. The other agents in the room looked at her expectantly, and eventually she felt inclined to extrapolate. “While traveling on the first day I was met with a few rumors of an odd, purple-haired girl that had been frequenting the local ramen shop. Her appearance was strange enough to alert the residents, so tracking her down was less difficult than anticipated. I got a hold of Mei and Lena, and together we intercepted her and located the bomb.”

Winston was quiet. Everyone got the impression that he was giving them the third degree, but no one could really pinpoint why. Angela continued to fill the silence with more information, hoping it would somehow soften the blow. Or she _tried_ to. Winston held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak again.

“You’re telling me you just _happened_ to stumble upon Sombra’s whereabouts as soon as you arrived?” he asked incredulously. There was something else in that tone though. Something knowledgeable. All eyes were trained to Angela, who pressed her lips together.

“Yes. It wasn’t often that the locals saw someone who looked like her, so-“

Winston dropped a box on the table. It was ordinary. Cardboard. Inside were the comms they’d given up before the mission…missing one.

“Where is it, Angela.” It was a question, but the tone was a demand. Lena’s face broke into panic and Mei’s eyes widened. Angela just looked stunned, eyeing the box, then Winston, then the box again.

“Winston…I did what I had to do to-“

“Yeah, I know. You said it yourself. You pursued your own lead. Tell everyone _how._ ”

Angela chewed the inside of her cheek and then tossed the stray strands of hair out of her face before reaching into her pocket. She dropped the device onto the table.

“…I removed the uplink device from it and placed it within Hanzo’s phone before we departed.”

“…why?” Lena practically squeaked, looking hurt beyond measure. “Why would you do that?”

Angela’s face softened and she looked shamefully at the tabletop. Everyone was staring. She folded her arms and did her best to sound confident.

“We would never be able to find them in time on our own. By providing them with bait, I knew they would be flushed out eventually in their effort to find us before we found them. Sombra would come out of hiding to track Hanzo, lead them to him, and we could use the time to find her and the bomb while they were distracted.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to look around at her colleagues. Each one had a mix of horror, betrayal, or confusion on their face. Winston was the only one to look disappointed. She surged forward to defend herself.

“I did what I thought was right! We did not have time to go snooping around on hunches and looking for ghosts! And we accomplished something – Sombra is on our custody. It never would have happened if we had to rely on the intel that Hanzo was getting alone! Too much time would have been wasted. Lives would have been lost! Mass casualties!”

“But they _took_ him, Angela…” Mei whispered, her hand at her lips. “They knew it was him because…”

“Because of what I did. And I cannot apologize enough for that,” she finished. “But that _wasn’t_ supposed to happen! All our eyes were on him – he was telling me his location every day and he had McCree there! With Mei and Lena’s help we would intercept the enemy before they reached him and get back before any harm came. There was supposed to be _protocol_. Hanzo was so confident that he had it under control. How it played out…it was… _unfortunate-_ ”

“’Unfortunate’ is a word one uses to describe a rainy day,” came a voice from the nearby wall, low and monotone through a robotic filter. “Not when describing the _loss of a family member.”_ Everyone had nearly forgotten Genji’s presence thanks to his unnatural quiet, but now they were all cringing visibly. The cyborg stood and stormed out of the room. No one tried to stop him. Angela was nearly crying in her effort to make them see her side of it all.

“Sombra came out of hiding because of that signal! We found where the bomb was _because of that signal!_ And none of you can honestly think that he had nothing to do with the events in Siberia! How do we know he was _taken_ and didn’t simply _leave with them?_ ”

A presence shadowed by the door and Winston’s eyes flicked upwards before he sighed heavily. McCree was staring at Angela with eyes wide and lips parted. Static crackled between his ears and not much else. The doctor saw him and knocked her chair back to stand. She was speaking and coming around the table to talk to him. But McCree was moving. Out. Away. Down the hall. Anywhere but there. Anyplace where he didn’t have to face the truth that a _teammate_ had offered up Hanzo’s head to the enemy.

The conference room was quiet. Angela did not return, instead rushing off to hide her tears in the med bay. Fareeha excused herself a few moments later to tend to her. Winston just stared holes in the table before replacing his glasses and clearing his throat.

“I am grounding this team until I deem it safe enough for us to move again,” he said. “I’m expecting a great deal of backlash from this, especially since there were civilian casualties and plenty of witnesses. It’s just best if we lay low. Gather ourselves. It’s just not smart of us to move out again after this.”

“And what of Hanzo?” Reinhardt boomed. “Surely we need to come up with a rescue plan?”

“I have no idea where to even start,” Winston admitted helplessly. “I hadn’t gotten around to imbedding his tracking chip, and we reclaimed his phone at the scene. We just don’t know where he is and we don’t have a way of finding it out.”

“That little witch in the holding cell might know,” Torbjorn offered gruffly. “Give me ten minutes with the girl and we’ll be able to fly out by tonight.”

“There’s no guarantee she knows any more than we do,” Winston said. “Our best bet aside from that is hoping Talon attempts to ransom us. Contacts us to offer to exchange Hanzo for their bomb and Sombra.”

“Do you really think they’ll do that?” Lena asked, sniffling slightly.

“It’s a possibility,” he said with a nervous smile. “They know we’ll want him back and do basically anything to get him.”

“What if…what if they…” Lena murmured, her hands clenching into fists. “…like Amelie…”

“Do not think like that,” Reinhardt hushed, patting her back. “No harm will come to Hanzo. We will get him back, just give it time. Overwatch always looks out for its comrades in battle!”

“Reinhardt’s right,” Lucio joined in, feeling confident enough to speak for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. “Gotta think positively. Hanzo’s a scary dude when he wants to be. And he’s got _dragons._ Guy’s probably kicking their ass right now. I actually feel sorry for those Talon goons.”

“I hope so,” Hana whispered, sounding worried. “I really, really hope so.”

Winston nodded and straightened out some papers in front of him. Inside, his heart clenched. The faces of past teammates montaged through his thoughts – Gabe, Jack, Ana, Gerard... Would he have to add Hanzo’s portrait to the rest?

 

* * *

 

 

Sombra remained sullenly silent for the first week or so. After that, she’d apparently grown bored of spinning around in her chair and braiding her hair over and over and set out to pester her guards through the little window in the door. Most of the time it was about food, but occasionally it was about their state of dress or how outdated their tech was. Her jabs were ignored. Mostly, anyway. She’d managed to get a rise out of Lucio when she’d made fun of the frog on his shoes.

Winston was unable to get anything out of her that was remotely helpful. He played good cop most often and made one dismal attempt at playing bad cop, but always came out empty handed. Things were going stagnant. Leads were going cold.

Angela avoided everyone but Fareeha. The times when she did come out of the med lab were few and far between, but each time showed her looking uncharacteristically haggard and tired. The bags under her eyes were deeper than usual. Fareeha didn’t want to talk about it.

Jesse had taken to becoming the problem child of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. He was never found on the base for more than two days at a time, despite Winston’s fierce protests. He’d sneak out at night to search for Hanzo anywhere he could, only returning when he ran out of supplies or hit a dead end. He ignored meal times and refused his routine physicals, even when Lucio offered to take Angela’s place. When he was on base, he spent most of his time training. Or in Hanzo’s room. His own had sat abandoned since the mission unless he needed to change his clothes.

Genji was the only one who could speak with him, and the cyborg didn’t seem all that inclined to stop the behavior. Zenyatta had encouraged him to show Angela forgiveness for her shortsightedness, which he had eventually conceded to, but that didn’t mean he thought McCree’s anger was unfounded. Quite the opposite. He even joined the cowboy on one or two of his secret excursions, hoping the companionship would help ease them through their grief. It didn’t.

Weeks passed this way.

Much to Winston’s dismay, Talon did not reach out to try and retrieve their weapon or their captured agent. They’d gone unusually silent. A part of him attributed it to the loss of their bomb. Another part knew it was something else.

Someone would have to get _something_ out of Sombra one way or another or they would be up shit’s creek.

Against his better judgement, he assigned Jesse to act as guard for a night. Up until that point, he had strictly advised against it, knowing the cowboy’s strong inner turmoil and rage. But he’d been one of the only ones that _hadn’t_ done a guard duty so far, and the scientist was running out of ideas. Worst case scenario, he roughed her up and would have to be pulled away like an attack dog with an intruder. Best case scenario, he figured out something they couldn’t. At the very least he could play a better bad cop than Winston could. That was reason enough to prop him near the door.

To say that Jesse had been reluctant would be an understatement. He didn’t have _time_ to babysit while Hanzo was still out there somewhere. There were still places he hadn’t checked. People he hadn’t spoken to. Standing in a hall at the base would be wasting resources. Resources that were running out every minute Hanzo wasn’t found. But Winston had pressed him. _Begged_ him. And McCree eventually complied.

Sombra’s eyes had snapped to him the second she saw the wide brim of the Stetson through the window. Her eyes followed him across her line of sight until he stopped and stood beside the door, leaned against it, and lit a cigar. He took a deep, heavy drag until the end nearly glowed yellow and then exhaled the smoke through his nose.

“Ah, vaquero. Been wondering when you’d show up.”

She was leaning up against the door to peek at him, her arms folded before her so she could rest on them. Jesse said nothing, but his lip curled just a bit upon hearing her voice.

“Aw, come on. No hello for me? We’re roommates now, aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean you should be polite?”

“I ain’t polite to terrorists,” McCree growled around the cigar, spinning Peacekeeper to keep his attention occupied elsewhere. “Or _kidnappers.”_

“Hey, don’t be like that, big guy. I didn’t kidnap anyone. I’m just sitting here in this cell, wasting away. In fact, if anyone did any kidnapping, it’s you guys. These shitty peanut butter sandwiches you keep feeding me probably make this cruel and unusual punishment too.”

“Shut up,” Jesse finally snapped, holstering his gun. Sombra just chuckled and twirled a lock of her hair around her fingertip.

“I can tell why he likes you now. You’re fun to mess with.”

“You don’t get to fuckin’ _talk_ about Hanzo,” he spat.

“Uh, who said I was talking about Hanzo?”

That got his attention. He _tried_ to quell the bubbling of curiosity inside of him. He _tried_ to tell himself she was just messing with him to provide herself with some form of entertainment. But McCree had been on edge for weeks. He was too tired, to angry to focus on formulating willpower against this. He took the bait.

“Then who?”

“Ah-ah- _ah_!” she said, wiggling her finger. “Not so fast, vaquero. I don’t give anything up for free. But I tell you what. Get me some decent food that _isn’t_ between two pieces of bread and I’ll see if I feel generous.”

“Fuck off,” McCree muttered in response, spinning back around again.

“Hm, too bad,” she drawled, stretching her arms up over her head. “And here I thought you guys were having a hard time. That monkey has been in here every day bugging me about where your boyfriend ran off to. But I only talk to my _friends_ about that sort of thing. And since you don’t wanna be _friends…”_

McCree flinched. She couldn’t be telling the truth, could she? There was no way she knew where Hanzo was – she’d been in custody when he’d been picked up. But maybe there was a plan here. A plan she was in on. Hope blossomed in his chest for the first time in weeks but it was dashed just as quickly. This could all just be a ruse. Some game to fuck with his head while she rotted in a cell. He would rush all over creation to try and answer her beck and call, only to be told at the end that she had nothing of worth to give back. A waste of time.

But he could feel Hanzo’s lips against his cheek. Feel his strong chin against the top of his head. Smell the lingering scent of ginger, tea, and fresh spring onions.

_We’re in this together, remember?_

He had to try.

And she knew it, too, from the smug smirk she gave him when he turned to face her.

“An omelet would be nice,” she winked. “With green peppers and salsa. And a glass of orange juice.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“So?” she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelashes. “I happen to think breakfast food is perfect for all times and circumstances. Plus, I know of a certain _cowboy_ who makes famous omelets.”

That one struck home. He hadn’t made a damn omelet in years. Not since before the Swiss headquarters had blown. Ana had always liked them, same with Reinhardt. Jack was more of an egg white guy and Genji, obviously, didn’t eat much. But Gabe had always taken his with…

…with green peppers and salsa.

No, that just had to be a coincidence. Gabe was _dead_. Had been for years. She’d probably just dug up some useless information on that stupid computer of hers, waiting to use it as ammunition. But Sombra’s knowing smirk had him second guessing that theory. And a lot of things, actually. And the kitchen was only a few steps down the hall. Worth the risk? He glared at her, weighing out his options, before eyeing the ceiling.

“Athena? Be a peach and make sure this gal don’t set foot outside her room. She does, you let me know and I’ll come right back and plant one between ‘er eyes.”

**_“Understood, Agent McCree.”_ **

“Pfft, where am I going to go?” Sombra asked, rolling her eyes. “You guys have all my shit, remember? Besides, I’m _dying_ to try something that _doesn’t_ contain peanut butter. I’m staying right here until I get my food.”

“Yeah, and you’d best _stay_ that way if y’know what’s good for you,” McCree threatened, tipping his hat.

“What. You gonna beat me up and take my lunch money?” she giggled. McCree growled and stomped down the hall. The last thing he wanted to do was make fucking _eggs_ , but it was worth a shot. Anything was worth a shot at this point.

It’d be a small price to pay to see a gold ribbon streaming over a building again.

 

* * *

 

 

True to her word for once, Sombra didn’t try anything fishy. When Jesse came back a few minutes later with some hastily cut peppers over a bed of whipped eggs and cheese, the hacker just stood with a hand on her hip and the other out to take the plate. She greedily dug into them like she hadn’t eaten in days, pulling her legs up to her chest. The noises she was making were practically pornographic.

“Oh, Dios mío, he was right. How do you get these so _fluffy_?” she asked with mouth full of egg, cutting another chunk of omelet off with the edge of a spoon. Jesse had refused to give her any sharp cutlery, and even as she ate he sat across from her with Peacekeeper’s barrel staring straight at her. He didn’t answer her question, instead choosing to glare at her from under his hat.

“Start talkin’,” he said, blowing out smoke.

“Sheesh, can’t even let a girl finish her food. And here I thought you were a gentleman,” she smirked, her eyes down as she pushed the salsa around with the spoon.

“Keep stallin’ and you’ll see just how _gentlemanly_ I can be, sweetheart. Who’s _he_?” McCree pressed, pulling the hammer back on his revolver with an audible click.

Sombra paused and cleaned the food off her teeth with her tongue before a knowing smile came to her lips. It was infuriating. McCree tensed up his jaw.

“…Reaper,” she said.

“Don’t recall ever makin’ eggs for Mr. Floatin’ Garbage Bag. What’s he got t’do with anythin’?”

Sombra shrugged her shoulders, slowly chewing. Still, that goddamn smile stuck to her face. McCree wanted to pistol-whip it right off. But since she didn’t seem inclined to add anything on to that statement, he was instantly regretting this whole thing. She’d played him just like he somehow knew she would.

“This was a waste of fuckin’ time…” he finally declared, standing and heading for the door.

“Okay, okay, wait, wait…” Sombra finally laughed, setting the plate to the side and holding her hands out. “I’m just playing! There’s not much else to do around here so I have to make my own fun, you know?”

“I ain’t here to be played. Either you give me somethin’ I can work with or I slam this door in that smug fuckin’ face and make sure you get nothin’ but peanut butter to eat while you rot.”

“ _Ouch,”_ she snorted, rolling her eyes. “You Overwatch guys really know how to pull out all the stops to threaten someone. I’m _quaking._ ” But she was leaning back against the wall beside her cot and folding her arms, giving the cowboy a once-over. It was enough to keep McCree’s spurred boots from marching out the door.

“Before you ask, I don’t know where they took Shimada. They told me a lot, but for some reason that whole thing was on a whole other level. I wasn’t included in _those_ meetings. The muckety-mucks upstairs didn’t trust me. Can you believe it?”

“I’m startin’ to,” McCree grumbled, tamping down on the flare of disappointment inside him.

“But since you’ve been _so_ nice, I’ll give you a piece of advice.” She leaned forward to get as close to his personal space as she could, her purple-tipped hair trailing over her shoulder. Jesse lifted his chin to eye her suspiciously, but didn’t tighten his finger on the trigger.

“Keep your eyes on the news,” she purred, batting her eyelashes. “Especially when those clean-cut newscasters with the big teeth are talking about the Land of the Rising Sun. Gonna be some _fireworks_. Big ones.”

Jesse was silent as he contemplated this. He’d heard the song before – she meant Japan? Was Hanzo still there? And what did it have to do with Talon? Her words left him with more questions than answers.

“And, as a bonus since you haven’t shot me yet,” she said, raising a finger. “ _Might_ wanna talk to your girl Pharah about her buddies in Helix. They’re going to have their hands full real soon. She might wanna check in.”

“What does Helix have to do with anything?” he asked curiously. Fareeha had long since drifted away from her involvement with the private security firm after deciding to turn her attentions to Overwatch. With the United Nations funding them, it would be a total conflict of interest while the Petras act was in place. But she was still a lieutenant with them, technically. It just hadn’t really mattered much…until now.

“You’ll see!” she sing-songed. “But that’s all you get for now, vaquero. Memory’s getting a little hazy,” Sombra chuckled. “Stop by and see me some other time and I _might_ remember more. Especially if you decide to cook me something special.”

“I’m only doin’ this as a favor to Winston,” McCree said, holstering Peacekeeper as he headed out. “Play head games with someone else.”

“No way,” she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at him through the tiny window in the door. “I’ve always had a thing for tall, dark and handsome types. The only head I wanna mess with is yours.”

“Cute.”

The bolt turned and clicked shut, the echo bouncing off the empty walls inside. Sombra laughed and tossed the plastic plate on the floor nearby, running her fingers through her hair.

“Hope you recorded that, darlin’” McCree said softly to the ceiling, once again resuming his position outside her door.

 ** _“Of course, Agent McCree. I have taken the liberty of saving it to the private security database. I will have Winston review it when he wakes up tomorrow,”_** came the reply from above. Thoroughly satisfied, he nodded and chewed on his cigar and shoved his hand into his pocket. The gold ribbon that was bunched in there threaded through his fingers. If he really concentrated hard enough, he could almost pretend like _someone_ was next to him, holding his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The killings didn’t start getting reported until late the following week.

Winston had been paying close attention, ticking them off on his tablet by location and victim identity. The international news networks were reeling – the authorities were baffled. No suspects, though there was plenty of suspicion. Bodies were littered all across Japan, and despite their great distances apart, they were all connected.

All high-ranking _yakuza._

All killed quietly and almost _elegantly_ via a quick sever to the spine. A sharp blade had been determined as the murder weapon, but so far had yet to be identified.

No witnesses.

But thanks to hours and hours of research, Winston picked up on something the news just wasn’t reporting.

They were all rivals of the Shimada-gumi.

“So what does this mean, exactly?” Lucio asked, sprawled across the couch in the common room while the television blared. “That we set off a clan war?”

“They were already at war. You remember what Winston said during the briefings,” Hana said, practically cocooned in her large bunny hoodie. “It’s just now their cheating. Talon’s helping.”

“Sombra was right,” McCree muttered from where he sat at the folding table. It was one of his rare moments of presence on base. The meeting with Sombra had left him curious enough to hang around. He’d needed to do laundry. He’d gotten blood on his serape from his last search attempt. He wasn’t willing to bring up whose it was.

It was obvious that he was restless. He’d been playing the same game of solitaire for hours now, occasionally flicking the cards down harder than necessary or grunting some choice swears under his breath. He was only half-listening to the conversation, his eyes narrowed at the cards. He hadn’t tried to crack a joke since Hanamura. He hadn’t even smiled. Not even Genji could coax anything lighthearted from the normally jovial cowboy.

He only noticed too late that the room had suspiciously emptied out. Hana and Lucio had snuck out when he wasn’t looking, and now the couch was barren.

A cup of coffee came into view across from him and he heard the chair give under the weight of a person. A person wearing a white lab coat.

“What do you want, Angela?” he asked tersely, flipping down another card. “I got nothin’ to say to you.”

She sighed and stared down into her mug for a long time. “I know. I wouldn’t want to forgive me either.”

McCree just glared. There were _so_ many other places he wanted to be right then instead of starting this conversation. Grudges were his specialty. Just ask the ghost of Jack Morrison.

“What I did was _wrong_ , Jesse. I know that now, even though I had the best intentions. I wanted to save everyone as quickly as possible…and I let my own feelings about Hanzo cloud my judgement. In some small way, I wanted to take revenge for what he put Genji through. For what I suspected he was doing when we were attacked in Siberia. And regardless of what my feelings towards him are, it doesn’t excuse what I’ve put the rest of you through. And I want to make up for it. I want to…I want to help.”

McCree didn’t look at her for a long time, instead focusing on the French tips of her nails and the faint crack in the coffee mug she was clutching. He could hear her voice cracking on certain syllables. He knew Angela well enough to pick up when she’d been crying. He’d been the source on more than one occasion thanks to carelessness or recklessness during missions. Hell, losing his arm had drawn a few tears from her when it had happened.

Jesse was a weak man. The sound of her sounding so vulnerable kept him from just getting up and storming away. It also kept him from tearing his hand out of her grip when she laid hers over it across the table.

They met eyes.

“I gotta find him, Angie,” McCree croaked, softer than he’d intended. “What you did…it’s done. I can’t forgive you…not yet. But I _have_ t’find him. I need help. I’ve been all over creation lookin’…will you…?”

“That’s what I came to tell you, Jesse,” she said, her hand coming up to cradle his cheek. Suddenly McCree was seventeen again, staring into the face of the angel that healed them all from scars and stab wounds. He could feel the tears falling and the way they rolled down his cheek, but he was too intent on hearing her to wipe them away. Thankfully she did that for him, frowning in concern.

“I was helping Winston examine the evidence from the news. I’m no medical examiner, but I’ve been around long enough to know-“

“ _Winston_!” called someone from the hall, the tall Fareeha storming into the common room to stare at Angela and the cowboy where they sat. She was wide-eyed and breathing hard, a holovid clutched in her hand tightly. “Have you seen him? It’s important.”

“He is in the lab,” Angela murmured, momentarily distracted by her partner’s spooked expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I just got off the phone with Aizad. He’s been working guard detail at Helix Maximum Security. Jesse said something about Sombra talking about them, so I called. And…” She went pale, her expression dire. Jesse sat up a little and used his shirt to dry his eyes. “There was some kind of attack a few hours ago. Systems went down, someone got into their database.”

“Is he alright? Was anyone hurt?”

“He’s fine, but…Akande. _Doomfist._ He…he escaped.”

You could hear a pin drop. Sucking in another breath, Fareeha dashed out of the room and towards the lab. Angela and McCree shared wide-eyed looks. Angela was the first to think about moving, rushing to follow Fareeha down the hall. McCree stood as well, taking off his hat to run his fingers through his hair.

“Angie, wait.”

She paused and waited by the doorframe.

“What were you gonna say?”

She bit her lip and looked down. “This might be better for some other time now, Jesse…”

“Angie,” he urged, taking a step forward. “ _Please.”_

She never could resist those eyes. Having to visibly collect herself, she rolled her shoulders back and tipped her head up. McCree braced himself, though he wasn’t sure against what.

“I think the weapon that killed those men…the size and shape of the entry wounds. It’s consistent with a sword.”

Jesse’s breath caught in his throat. Why did this all sound so terrifying?

“…a sword?”

She nodded slowly and met his eyes reluctantly.

“I think so. Sharp enough to not tear any of the tissue, and thin enough to slip between the vertebrae.”

“Why’re you tellin’ me this, Angie?” McCree questioned. Somewhere in the back of his head he already knew. He almost wanted to slap a hand over her mouth to keep it from hearing it out loud. The words would make it reality. Don't say it. _Please don't say it._

“A katana, Jesse,” she blurted. “I did a mock scenario with Genji’s blade on an archery dummy from downstairs. It’s a katana. It…it matched his. Perfectly.”

"But Genji _has_ his blade!" McCree shouted. "He's been here all damn week! It's impossible! He'd never _do_ that!"

"Hasn't...hasn't he ever told you?" she asked, brows knit in confusion. "Their father gave them matching swords, Jesse."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eek.
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com  
> ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	23. Doughnuts and Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: shit gets really dark in this chapter. references of torture, mind control, and McCree pukes into a garbage can. this shit is gonna be angsty as hell, but you guys should be used to that by now.
> 
> but at the very least, you guys will get some answers. finally. 
> 
> on a side note, in case you didn't see it, i made an edit to the end of the last chapter. i realized after a few people pointed it out that the language was a bit wonky. so i'd suggest you go back and read it or else some of this might not make any sense. 
> 
> you know the drill, as usual. kudos, comments, all that jazz. 
> 
> i have a ko-fi page: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy
> 
> and a tumblr: 
> 
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com

_“This_ is our number one priority.” Winston jabbed a chubby finger against a newspaper on his lab table, gesturing to the mugshot of a formidable looking man with dark skin, a wide neck, and fearless glare. The headline read “Danger Imminent as ‘Doomfist’ Disappears.”

“Glad to see the papers are still breaking out the alliteration…” Lucio snorted from where he tinkered with his sonic amplifier.

“Are you lifting the travel ban?” Fareeha asked with an eyebrow raised. “I have to get out there. I need to help Helix investigate what went wrong with our systems.”

“Is it true he _punched_ his way through the wall?” Hana asked, her eyes scanning the article. She sounded genuinely impressed.

“Woah wait. Dude _punched_ his way outta prison?” Lucio stopped, setting down the soldering iron he was using to touch up a wiring issue. “As in with his fist?”

“They don’t call him Doomfist for nothing,” Winston grumbled, tapping on his keyboard with both hands. He flew through screens lightning-fast, an empty jar of peanut butter with a spoon sitting beside him. Archived files, mostly. It was a welcome distraction from his own thoughts – a way to push away the memory of the hulking brute of a man ripping away Tracer’s chronal accelerator and seeing the way she blinked away, panic-stricken. “Bingo.”

“What is it?” Hana asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“The gauntlet. _His_ gauntlet,” Winston said, his voice thoughtful. “Talon tried to get it right after I initiated the original recall. It was just me and Lena then, but we pushed off Reaper and Widowmaker long enough to keep it out of the wrong hands. Now that he’s out, it’ll be the next thing they’ll make a try for.” He scooped out a heaping spoonful of peanut butter and popped it in his mouth as he typed quickly, spectacled eyes scanning the headlines of various news feeds.

“It’s going to be in Numbani this week,” Hana read, pointing at the screen. “For Unity Day.”

“We don’t have much time. We need to act on this now.” He swiveled in his chair to face down the agents that had sought him out – Angela, Fareeha, and a faraway McCree. The latter had followed the two women in with an unreadable expression – different than the constant scowl he’d retained these past few weeks, but not much of an improvement. At least he was there and not high-tailing it after some dead end lead in search for Hanzo. They needed him there right now. But Winston would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Winston, I have to-“

“Go ahead, Fareeha,” Winston said, spreading papers across the table to examine them more closely. “Torbjorn has your suit in his workshop – stop by there to get an update and then head out. I expect an immediate status report the _second_ you get there, okay? If you see or hear anything, I’d like to know about it.”

“Got it, Boss,” Fareeha said with a salute before patting Angela on the shoulder and trotting around the corner. The gold bangles tinkled all the way down the hall and then disappeared after the sound of a door shifted into place.

“…so this Doomfist guy really _punched_ out of _prison?”_ Lucio asked again, his fingers interlaced behind his head. “I mean, if he can do _that_ , you really think he needs that gauntlet?”

“He’s the head of the snake,” Angela said, her usually angelic face dour. “That gauntlet is more than just a weapon. It’s a statement. He’s the _third_ man to carry the Doomfist title and the protégé of the Scourge of Numbani. He shapes his life around it – his body, his mind. Now that he’s free, Talon will no-doubt attempt more brazen acts thanks to their newfound confidence.”

“Which means they’re gonna be more of a pain in the butt than usual,” Hana deduced.

“In so many words.”

“We gotta get out there.”

McCree speaking drew everyone’s attention. Even Winston, who had been immersed in his work, looked up and allowed his glasses to slide down his nose. The cowboy noticed after a second of silence and slid his gaze around to their faces.

“What? We ain’t got time to be waitin’ around. Gotta get back out there and kick some tail before shit hits the fan.”

“Just didn’t expect that out of you, McCree,” Winston explained with a sheepish smile. “I’m glad you’re eager, though. I know things have been especially… _difficult_.” His eyes flicked from Angela back to him tellingly.

“I been gettin’ nowhere fast doin’ this by my lonesome,” McCree grunted, folding his arms. “If Hanzo was taken by Talon, and Talon’s gonna be in Numbani, then damn it I’m gonna be in Numbani. Just gives me a chance to _beat_ answers out of ‘em instead of just chasin’ ghosts.”

“Speaking of which,” Winston said, scratching the side of his cheek with a finger. “We might want to see if Sombra is willing to cooperate some more. I’m starting to think she’s going to be here for the long haul since no one has tried to infiltrate us yet. Maybe knowing she’s stuck will make her a bit friendlier.”

“Trust me, you don’t _want_ that girl any friendlier,” McCree grumbled.

“Well maybe you could…?”

“No,” McCree said immediately. “I got enough goin’ on between my ears as it is. I don’t need some squirrely computer freak jabberin’ around in there.”

“Jesse, you’re the only one she’s opened up to since she’s been here,” Angela pointed out. “Our best bet at finding anything about Hanzo is through her.”

“Don’t know what makes _me_ so special,” he groused.

“Just _talk_ to her,” Winston pleaded. “I’m not happy about it either, but if-“

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Yeah, yeah, I get it.” McCree stood and adjusted his serape a bit higher on his neck.

“Would you like some company?”

Genji needed a damn bell. He’d come into the room at some point during the conversation and was leaning against the doorframe. His sudden presence made McCree tense up and stare pointedly at the sword at his back. Angela cleared her throat and stood, putting a tentative hand on the cowboy’s shoulder to urge him forward.

“Winston and I have a lot to discuss. The events unfolding in Japan have given us more than enough work to puzzle through.”

“I also have a horribly dangerous bomb sitting behind me that could go off any second. Let’s not forget about _that_ ,” Winston brought up with a thumb over his shoulder, his expression deadpan. “I mean, it’s not _that_ bad – I have a dampening widget plugged into it that I _think_ is holding it off, but until I can figure out the schematics-“

“God, I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” McCree groaned, pulling the brim of his hat down over his ears. Genji calmly followed behind him with his hands folded behind his back after giving the other parties in the room a slight nod.

“You actually seem to be in higher spirits today, given the circumstances,” Genji observed after a few steps. “I’m glad.”

“I guess,” came the noncommittal reply. As much as he liked Genji, he still didn’t really feel much like talking. Especially with that sword so close.

“What changed?”

McCree mulled over his words carefully. Angela had asked him profusely to keep her theory a secret until she gathered more evidence. Genji was the last person he wanted to freak out right now. He couldn’t even imagine what this whole situation was doing to him. In fact, it only just now occurred to McCree that he’d been too absorbed in his own melancholy lately to ask.

“Got a promising lead,” he said vaguely. “Rest of the team is gonna help look in on it. And I talked to Angie, too. Sorta.”

“Ah, I see.”

“How are you, Genj?” Jesse asked, stopping so that the cyborg would stop along with him and then turning to face him. “I’m sorry I ain’t been around. It’s been-“

“You do not need to apologize,” Genji said with a hand raised to silence him. “Honestly, McCree, you think I don’t understand? I am not the only one who lost something in Hanamura.”

“Still didn’t answer my question, though,” McCree pointed out, leaning back a little on the wall. “You doin’ okay?”

“As okay as I can be,” Genji said, taking his turn to be vague. “My master’s presence has been invaluable. I would be much worse if he wasn’t here to guide me through this.”

“Good thing he is, then.”

They both stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at the floor. There was a bit of comfort to be found in the shared sadness they both felt, but it was mostly bittersweet. An attempt to put a bandage over a wound that was still angry and raw.

“I’ll find him, Genj,” Jesse whispered, tapping the other man’s arm. “ _We’ll_ find him. I promise.” He internally skipped over the part of him that pointed out all the negative possibilities that came with that statement. Now wasn’t the time.

The Sparrow looked up and tilted his head for that understood smile, though even with the faceplate in the way McCree could tell it was forced. But he nodded.

“I have no doubt that we will,” he said. Slowly, he brought up one of his hands to flex it experimentally, eyeing it over with thoughtful speculation. When he spoke again, McCree got the impression that he’d floated away to someplace else entirely. “But I cannot help but wonder…will everything be the same once we do?”

 

* * *

 

 

Lena was on guard duty in front of Sombra’s ‘cell’ when the two men finally got there. The trip down the hall had taken a lot longer than necessary thanks to some much-needed bonding time, though neither of them seemed to be feeling any better afterwards. Even the ever-optimistic Lena had been finding herself experiencing extended periods of sadness and guilt. The smile she fixed on the two approaching her held none of its usual exuberance and cheer.

“’ello, luvs. Here to keep me company?”

“’fraid so,” McCree said with his own weak smile. “Gonna have another lil’ chitchat with our guest in there.”

“Hola, vaquero. Back to see me so soon? I knew you cared,” purred the voice from the tiny window in the door. McCree could spy a flash of purple and the pearly shine of some bleach-white teeth. He rolled his eyes. “What’d you bring me this time? I’m starving.”

“A lil’ treat. You play nice, might share some with you.”

If it was possible, her smile only got wider and more mischievous. “Oh cowboy, for the right payment I can be _very_ nice.”

Unimpressed, McCree turned to Lena and tipped his hat back. “Open the door, wouldja please?”

Baffled, Lena complied and fished around in her pocket for the key.

“I will remain out here,” Genji said.

“Probably a good idea,” Jesse agreed. “Judgin’ by what she did to that mech in Siberia, the idea of you gettin’ too close to her don’t exactly fill me with warm fuzzies. No offense.”

“None taken,” Genji snorted, shaking his head. “Winston said as much when he refused to give me a guard shift. Just one of the many _perks_ to being me, I suppose. But I still have perfectly functioning ears. I can listen just as well from out here with Lena.”

“Oh, uh, Jesse?” Lena had touched his arm on his way in the door with the gentlest of grabs, her long legs bracing against the floor to stop him. She couldn’t keep her eyes on him, instead letting them dart to the floor, the wall – really anywhere but his face.

“Hm? Yeah, sweetpea?”

She let her hand on his arm drop and used it to rub her opposite elbow nervously. She chewed on her lower lip before speaking.

“I just wanted to say sorry. For everything. It all got a bit barmy somewhere along the line and I’m feeling right gutted. Me and Mei…we didn’t know what Angela was doing, I swear. We were just following orders-“

McCree ruffled her hair with a big gloved hand and managed a tired, but comforting smile.

“Ain’t your fault. It…it really fuckin’ sucks, but it ain’t your fault,” he said, sighing heavily. He had probably heard the word ‘sorry’ a hundred times in the past week by now. “But what’s done is done, ain’t it? All we can do now is just keep on rollin’. Ain’t gettin’ Hanzo back any quicker by cryin’ over spilt milk.”

“I just didn’t want you to think…”

“It’s fine, Lena. I swear. We’ll get ‘im back and it’ll all be pretty as a peach again.”

“Anytime now, vaquero,” Sombra interjected impatiently, sitting cross-legged on the bed and examining her nails. “I’ve got a very busy schedule, here.”

Jesse rolled his eyes, shot Lena a wink, and moved in while she shut and locked the door behind him. McCree pulled out the ubiquitous plastic chair opposite his hostage and sat in it backwards, folding his arms over the back. Sombra just grinned, ready to play.

“So? What’d you bring me?”

“Told you. Gotta be nice first.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” she groaned, flopping backwards. “Don’t you know anything about bribing a prisoner for information? You show them what you’ve got, they freak out and start squirming to get it, they spill their guts and you give it to them. You have to at least _show_ me.”

Blowing out air through his lips like a horse, McCree eyed her and weighed out his options before a hand slipped under a suspicious bump under his serape. Sombra sat up and grinned like the cat that got the cream, especially when the flask was produced in one hand and a mysterious paper bag was in the other. There was a bit of grease peeking through the bottom. That meant it had to be something _good._

“Okay, tell you what,” McCree drawled, setting both objects down beside him. Unhooking it from his belt loop, McCree produced a folding travel cup and popped it into formation before setting it with the rest. “You gimme somethin’ good, I’ll give you a shot of the hard stuff an’ one of these babies…”

Reaching a hand into the bag, he pulled out a slightly squished but still entirely delectable pink-frosted doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. Sombra’s eyes widened as he held it out in front of him, drawing it out of the way when she attempted to snatch it out of the air.

“Some of Hana’s stash. I’m breakin’ rules, here, so you better make it up to me or I’m eatin’ all of ‘em myself.” As if to stress his point, McCree licked the pad of his thumb and shrugged his shoulders after dropping the pastry back into the bag. Sombra pouted, but that at least meant she was willing to play ball. McCree figured she would be. So far she hadn’t been _that_ tough of a nut to crack. Her loyalties obviously didn’t run as deep as they’d thought.

“Where do I start?” she asked curiously, tilting her head to level him with a smirk.

“Start from the top,” he said simply. “Detroit. I guess that’s where all this mess started. What were your boys doin’ in Detroit when we found ‘em?”

“Oh, lots of things,” she replied vaguely. “I wasn’t _there_ , but from the peek I took at their lab files, it all ranged from ballistic weaponry to live experimentation. So you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific. Not everything that Talon does revolves around kicking _your_ ass, if you can believe that.”

“This doughnut’s gettin’ farther and farther away, sweetheart,” McCree threatened.

“Okay, okay, _jeez,_ ” she relented. “Most of it was focused on…Project Poster Child.” Surprisingly her smile slipped when she uttered the words and she gave a full body shudder. McCree watched in curiosity as she even drew her legs up closer to her chest and gave them a tight squeeze.

“And that is what, exactly?” he asked.

Her eyes flicked back over to him and she chewed on her lip, but her gaze continuously raked over the doughnut bag too. “You aren’t going to like it.”

“Honey, there ain’t nothin’ about any of this that I’ve liked so far,” McCree drawled, shaking his head. “An’ I saw the boys in lab coats. I know about the experiments.”

“You really don’t,” she muttered. “The whole thing gives me goosebumps. I’m serious. You really, _really_ won’t like it. It’s fucking creepy.”

Without saying anything, McCree reached down and drew up the flask, poured a generous amount of dark whiskey into the travel cup and handed it to her. She took it gladly and downed a healthy gulp, a stray drop making its way down her throat. When the cup finally came down, her face scrunched up and she shook her head with a loud growl. “Shit burns.”

“Yeah, but it might make it easier to talk about…whatever it is.”

“I’m not even supposed to really _know_ about it,” she elaborated, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while she tossed the cup back over. “Pendejos tried to keep me in the dark about all of it. They were even gonna try and take me off being a field agent after that crap in Volskaya. Anything I’m gonna tell you is shit I had to dig for myself.”

“An’ you’re willin’ to give it all up for some doughnuts?” McCree asked, seeming a bit amused as he looked down at the empty cup. “Maybe this shit is stronger than I thought.”

“Let’s face facts here, vaquero,” she said, sighing. “There’s no real positive endgame for me here. I’m stuck in a little shitty room on a shitty base surrounded by shitty people who have my gear. I’ve been eating stupid fucking _peanut butter_ for almost ten days straight.” She sneered at the empty paper plate on the table nearby with a few crumbs left on it. “I got hooked up with Talon because they paid well and gave me freedom, but where are they now? It’s been weeks. They haven’t tried shit to get me out of here. So I have to start looking out for _me._ Consider me a free agent. Ready to offer my services to the highest bidder.” She fixed him with a smile and wiggled her eyebrows. “And right now, big boy, that’s you.”

“You’re stallin’” McCree pointed out.

“I have a proposition,” she said with a grin. “One that doesn’t involve food for once.”

“I’m listenin’,” he rumbled, cocking his head to the side.

“You get that monkey to let me out of this room and I’ll tell you _everything._ All I’ve got.”

“What’s the catch?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. “There’s gotta be a catch.”

“I’m offended, vaquero,” she said, batting her eyelashes with a hand to her chest. “To think we’ve been getting along so well and you go and say something like that!”

“Spill it,” he commanded. “I ain’t got time for bullshit.”

“I wanna join Overwatch.”

“ _What?_ ” he asked, rearing back with surprise. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’. No fuckin’ way.”

“Look, I can help you guys! I’ve got my own reasons, sure, but it’s either this or prison. And I’d much rather have this.” _That_ sounded familiar. Jesse was suddenly thrown back in time, looking down at some punk kid and a sharp looking man in a beanie hashing it out in an interrogation room. It loosened something inside of him. This girl was older and more dangerous than he’d ever been at that age, sure, but something about the whole thing just _screamed_ déjà vu. He side-eyed her.

“You seem t’think I got more pull around here than I do. Winston’s about as likely to listen to me as he is to listen to a damn talkin’ trashcan.” He paused, bluffing just to make her nervous. It was the least she deserved after all the shit they’d been through because of her. “I’ll ask him. I ain’t promisin’ _nothin’_ , but the more you give me, the more it’ll help your case.”

She seemed pleased by this and bounced with a wide smile. McCree felt like he’d just made a deal with the devil. Was that what Gabe felt like when he’d watched a scrawny little cowboy sign his life away? He didn’t want to think about it.

“What’re you waitin’ for? Go on before I change my mind.”

Sombra pulled a face. “Okay, okay. First, lemme ask you a question. You remember your history lessons? About the beginnings of the Omnic Crisis?”

“I think everyone does,” McCree said, starting to get impatient. “Man makes omnic, man tries to shut down omnic, omnic rises against man. More to it than that, I know, but that’s the general gist.”

“Yeah, but do you know what the omnics were like before the omniums were shut down?” she asked, scooting forward. “Before the god program kicked in?”

“A lot less evolved than they are now, I reckon,” McCree said, running his fingers through his beard.

“Yeah, they were. I mean, you gotta think about it, they were made to help with simple stuff. Production, manufacturing. They didn’t need omnics who were brainiacs and they sure as shit didn’t need ones with free will.”

“I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at, but you’d better get there fast or I’m walkin,’” the cowboy grunted.

“There’s a reason why they kept picking omniums. You saw it. I heard you say it when I was listening to you. They were making omnics. Omnics _without_ the god program dictating their free will. Blank slates. Easily controlled. Put a gun in their hand or fit them with a blaster cannon and they’re soldiers.”

“You’re sayin’ Talon’s makin’ an army?” McCree asked incredulously. “An omnic army?”

“Yes and no,” she said, waving a hand. “Look, I take it Akande got busted out?”

McCree nodded. “Yesterday, looks like.”

“Okay, well, off the record, me and ol’ Doomy just…don’t get along. He’s got this _idea_ that humanity only rises to his definition of greatness when faced with some big tragedy. Only the strong survive and all that crap. I think it’s all horseshit. I mean, who is he to judge who is strong and who isn’t just because he’s this big muscle head? But hey, they weren’t paying me to do anything besides fuck with you guys, so who cares, right?”

The cowboy’s eyes widened. “He’s makin’ soldiers as some sorta test for the world?”

“Look who’s catching on,” she smirked, flipping her hair. “Can I have a doughnut now?”

McCree tossed a frosted blob of dough at her and she caught it, ignoring the mess and taking a huge, indulgent bite. It felt a bit like feeding a sea lion or a dolphin a fish after a trick.

“So why is it called Operation Poster Child?” he asked, taking a swig of the flask in his hand. He had a feeling he was gonna need it for this conversation.

“Yeah, that’s the part you aren’t going to like,” she warned, shoving the half-chewed remnants of doughnut to one side of her mouth so she could talk. “What do you know about Akande?”

“That he’s a dick?” McCree offered, getting a muffled giggle from his counterpart. “I mean, I know he was a fighter when he was younger. Super strong. Bald as hell.”

“He’s _smart_ ,” Sombra finished for him. “Smart enough to know you can’t do something like this and come out on top in the end. Even if you _make_ it through the war or whatever it is and see your plan come to fruition, someone’s gonna come knocking at your door to toss you back in the slammer. So you have to find yourself a scapegoat. Or _make_ one.”

“Shit,” McCree breathed, taking off his hat to push his hair away from his forehead. He knew where this was going. As much as he needed her to keep talking, he really, _really_ wished she wouldn’t.

“It’d need to be someone with a lengthy criminal history. Someone the public knew and feared. Someone with extensive combat skills and weapons training. Originally, that someone was you, mi amigo.”

McCree felt nauseous. He could suddenly smell how sickeningly sweet those doughnuts were through the bag and had an urge to hurl them into the nearest trash can and say fuck it to this entire thing. His mind went back to the men and women on the slabs back at Detroit – all fogged out and injected with god knows what. Failed attempts just waiting for the real thing. His brain was already filling in the blanks before she could elaborate. Somewhere deep down he hoped she’d choke on a piece of pastry so he wouldn’t have to listen to it being spelled out for him.

“That’s why Reaper tailed you when you were creeping around the installation. Knock you out, take you in, fix you up like a Christmas goose and send you out to command the largest worldwide rebellion since the Omnic Crisis. Only the strong would come out on top, but no matter what, you’d go down in history as the one who did it. Ol’ Blackwatch, gun-shootin’, huge bounty on my head McCree. But as it just so happens, you had a damn guardian angel. One that fit the profile better than you did.”

“Stop,” McCree wheezed, holding out a hand. “Just…just gimme a minute here.”

“Told you that you wouldn’t like it,” she said with a huff, taking advantage of his emotional upset to cross the room and crouch to dig through the paper bag near his feet. She pulled out another doughnut, this time one with chocolate and peanut butter drizzle, before climbing back up onto the cot and munching it.

The room was spinning. Jesse’s heart was thudding so loud it sounded like the loud guitar strum of a Johnny Cash song. Sombra, to her credit, seemed unfazed by the whole thing, picking out white sprinkles from the bottom of the doughnut that didn’t belong.

“You’re tellin’ me…you’re tellin’ me they’re fixin’ to make Hanzo their…”

“Ye-ep. Sucks, doesn’t it? I was never onboard with the whole thing. A person’s mind should be their own, not some fucking Rubix cube.”

“Hanzo would never do somethin’ like that,” McCree growled, almost shaking. “He’s strong. He’s not like…like…”

“Widowmaker?” she finished for him again, taking note of the way Lena knocked against the door inadvertently at the mention of her name. “Yeah, I agree. And if the process was anything like what they did to her, I’d believe you.”

“What do you mean?” McCree regretted the question as soon as he asked it, but he had to know. _They_ had to know. They couldn’t fight an enemy they didn’t understand. Was that what Hanzo was now? An enemy?

Sombra pulled another face and, for the first time, sat the remaining portion of her doughnut down on the plate by the bed. She took a moment to swallow hard, wiping her hands on her shirt, before she stood and grabbed the flask out of his hand. The idea seemed to bother her as much as it did him, because she took a long, almost unseemly swig of the whiskey and then handed it back to him. Another loud growl and shake of her head and she deemed herself ready to continue.

“Okay…before I start, remember, you _asked,”_ she prefaced. “And, just as a side note, I had nothing to do with any of what I’m about to tell you. I only know about it because I did a little snooping while I was encrypting their backup files for them. In the end…I really wish I hadn’t.”

“Just _talk_ , Sombra,” McCree barked, feeling like a gutted fish.

“Yikes, take a chill pill,” she chastised, her lip quirking up on one side. She leaned backwards against the cot and stared up at the ceiling with her hands folded over her belly, her toes barely touching the white tile floor. “A lot of those manufactured omnics weren’t meant to be soldiers. _Most_ of them weren’t, actually. They wanted them for their brains, as dumb as that sounds. To go through all that work just to scrap most of it for parts. But they were studying them. Tallying up the differences between a human mind and an omnic one. You’d think that shit would be obvious, and a lot of it _is_ , but they wanted something specific.

Like a human, an omnic innately has the capacity to experience free will if it’s given the opportunity. Humans take this for granted – to us, life is all about choices. We still all have instincts, sure, but, to an omnic, its more than just a feeling. Programming is final. You’re given a purpose, you don’t override that purpose. You make an omnic that builds cars, that omnic’s gonna build cars until it craps out. Just the way it goes. They wanted to basically take that finality and cross it over. Make it applicable to someone living.”

She sat up and scratched her head, looking out the tiny window that sat above an empty bookshelf to her right. “Turns out the brain is more complicated than that. Go figure, huh? So they changed direction. Figured if they couldn’t rewire it, they could just…shut down parts. Close them off from the rest. That ended up being a lot more successful.

I saw these blueprints. Specs for some machine they were making. Actually, I don’t even know if you could call it a machine. I always picture shit like that to be big. These were _tiny_ , mass-produced. Microscopic. They’d work in big groups, like ants. Program them with the right code and they’d spread out and take over whatever you wanted. It was fucking _creepy._ I’ve never seen anything like that.”

McCree was enraptured for all the wrong reasons. He wasn’t even sure when he’d forgotten to breathe, but anytime she paused he’d need to take a sharp intake of air to make up for it. It didn’t even seem real. It was a nightmare. A nightmare that was happening to Hanzo. _His Hanzo._

“Took them _years,_ ” she started again, shaking her head. “They started out with Amelie – Widowmaker. A first attempt, but one deemed unsuccessful. Not sure if you guys care, since she’s been a thorn up your ass for a while now, but she snaps out of it sometimes. Talks about her husband. What was his name? Gerard?”

McCree nodded dumbly and could softly hear Lena sniffling outside the door. Thankfully Genji was out there. Through the small opening he could see him pull her into a hug. He was glad the man’s face was expressionless like that. He didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

“Eventually they figured out what parts to block out. Pain receptors, emotions, thoughts. Those pinche insectos would wipe it all out. But they had a problem – they couldn’t just scrap what they didn’t want and expect a brain to work. A lot of that shit is integrated. Like, one-part handles emotions and personality but _also_ controls hearing and balance. What good is a soldier that is fearless but deaf and stumbling around? Didn’t work. So back to the drawing board.

They had to adjust. Change. Compromise. I found like _fifty_ drafts circling around, all looking completely fucking different. I think they’re on version…I dunno, 42.6? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is they found a way to make it _work.”_

She looked back at McCree to take stock of his emotional state. He was pale, eyes blank and mind racing. If he had chosen to look at her, he’d see the way she softened and turned away.

“They put them through hell first. The worst shit you can think of. Starvation, pain, isolation…whatever they think will make them break the quickest. And just when they’re about to give out, they plug them full of those little monstrosities. And then they…they end up doing it to _themselves,_ ” she said softly, slowly shaking her head. “It’s…it’s awful. Their own mind works against them. They get infected with those…those _things_ and the part that was _them_ gets put in this little box all by itself. And their mind is so _desperate_ to keep itself from suffering again, it builds its own prison out of dreams and memories. Outside they’re reprogrammed- the only stuff that escapes is whatever the bastards in the lab _want_ to escape. They make them fearless, violent and obedient. The perfect soldiers. But they had videos. Pictures. Even inside, even after _all that_ , the parts of their brains that handle all the dreaming looked like the Fourth of July.”

“That’s a fucking _nightmare_ ,” McCree croaked, not recognizing the sound of his voice.

“It’s _effective,”_ Sombra corrected, going back to picking at her doughnut. “Can’t fight something you don’t know you’re fighting. Like I said. Akande’s smart. Even from jail he knew what he wanted and was able to get it. I’m just…really sorry Shimada had to be it.”

“Why…why tell me all this?” McCree asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “Winston’s been in here since you showed up tryin’ to get somethin’ out of you. Why me?”

Sombra smiled like the Cheshire cat. “It’s just logical. You’re in _love_ with him, cowboy. Of all the people who have to hear this, I think you’re at the top of the list.”

The silence was deafening.

McCree could feel bile rising in the back of his throat and had to hurriedly stand and bang on the door to be let out. It was Genji who obliged by unlocking it with Lena still sobbing against his chest. McCree pushed forward and shoved his head into the nearest trashcan, heaving the contents of his chile con carne into the bottom.

“Gross,” Sombra complained, watching McCree’s back jerk every time a new bout of sickness consumed him. “I _told_ you that you weren’t gonna like it, vaquero.”

“We can’t let ‘em do this…” he finally managed out, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He was out of breath and looking green. Sombra just rolled her eyes and cast her eyes heavenward.

“Didn’t you listen to anything I said? It’s _done._ Your boyfriend’s toast.” A thoughtful pause. “Since I was right about Akande breaking out, I’m guessing I was right about Japan, too?”

Genji finally showed some semblance of upset as he jerked his head to look at McCree for his response. McCree couldn’t help the guilty look that crossed his features or the way his heart was quickly shredding itself with every word she threw at him. The cowboy couldn’t seem to formulate a response, so he just nodded.

“And lemme guess. They were all stabbed or something, right?”

Genji tensed. A look to Sombra, then back to McCree. Even Lena had gone quiet now, trying to quell her crying so she could listen to the conversation.

“Yeah, I figured. Akande heard how you – Genji, right?- how you got all slashed up when you guys were kids. And since your big bro decided to boycott swords, the pendejo thought it’d be nice to make him use one. What a fucking asshole.”

“What is she saying, Jesse?” Genji asked quietly, letting Lena go in favor of stepping closer to him. “Tell me what she means.”

“Genj…just wait a minute. We have to-“

“Your promising lead? _This_ is what you meant?” Genji asked with as much of a crack as his voice would allow. He stepped back and clenched his fists at his sides. A sudden burst of realization slid into his voice. “That was why Angela asked to see my katana.”

“We don’t know anythin’ yet, Genj. She could just be makin’ shit up.”

“No,” he said softly. “No, this all makes sense now. Remember what that brother said at the restaurant. You _told_ me what he said. ‘A favor for a favor.’ Hanzo is…it’s _Hanzo._ ”

“Stop, Genji. Just-“

“I must go.”

As quick as lightning, the Sparrow had disappeared. McCree wasn’t strong enough to stop him. He just didn’t have it in him. Instead, he sank to his knees right there in the hallway, trying to keep his imminent panic attack from rendering him completely useless.

“I’m just gonna finish these. Dios mio, everyone around here is so _emotional._ ,” Sombra said from her spot on the cot, the paper bag sitting in her lap. “If I were you, vaquero, I’d tell you and the rest of your team to get over that shit _real_ fast. Because the monster that’s coming your way won’t care how many walks on the beach you two had, or if you guys said ‘I love you’ or not. Unless you figure out how to put that stuff behind you, Akande’s gonna win.”

“No. No _way._ I ain’t lettin’ this stand. You’re full of shit. You’re just… _this is all bullshit.”_

Sombra fixed him with an arched eyebrow and smiled, amused at his sheer level of delusion. She took another big bite of doughnut, cramming whatever wouldn’t fit inside her mouth until she looked like a chipmunk. Lena was wiping her eyes hurriedly, trying to beat the tears before they fell. Eventually Sombra swallowed and sucked on her fingers. She thought about bringing up some _other_ little tidbits she’d picked up over the years, but she didn’t want to see a full-grown man have any more of a meltdown than he already was. God, love was so _dumb._

“Get to Numbani. See for yourself. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jesse had to go tell Winston. He had to make him listen to the recording of the conversation. They had to pack up. Leave _now._ Go to Numbani. He had to get to Hanzo. _He had to get to Hanzo._

“Oh, and while you’re there, mind picking me up some guava ice cream? The stuff they have here in the states isn’t nearly as-“

But McCree was running. Down the hall and through his fear. His boots fell heavily against the floor.

Lena, still sniffling, shut the door and locked it. Sombra just frowned and sucked on her pinky when she noticed a remnant of frosting still there.

“ _Rude.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eek. again. sorry. but now we at least know what Talon's been doing! 
> 
>  
> 
> ........yay.........?


	24. Battle of the Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the theme song for the main scene in this chapter is Immigrant Song by Tomoyasu Hotei.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKGzQC4lPZU
> 
> as usual, i like comments and kudos. they feed my soul.

_He could feel the sunlight on his skin before he even opened his eyes. It warmed him from head to toe, made him see pink behind his eyelids. There was something soft at his back. His head felt fuzzy. It was hard to focus._

_“Oh good, you’re up.”_

_Hanzo cracked his eyes open to take in where he was. His temples hurt a little. He was sore but something told him not to worry about any of it. Maybe it was Jesse’s smile against the pink backdrop of the cherry trees behind him. Maybe it was the smell of wild jasmine permeating the air. Whatever it was, Hanzo tingled all over and gave in to it._

_He took the cup from Jesse’s hand as it was offered. The cup felt way too light in his hand. **Don’t worry about it** , something said. He sipped the tea smiled back at the relaxed cowboy in front of him. Just the right amount of honey. He didn’t realize Jesse put honey in his tea. **Don’t worry about it**. Hanzo sighed and let it go when that tingling came back. _

_“Where are we?” he asked. His voice sounded muffled to his ears. Jesse just smiled and sipped his tea._

_“Safe house. Got here the other day. Don’t you remember?”_

_He didn’t. Not at all. The last thing he remembered was lying in a room with white walls and a cold table. And pain. Lots of pain._

_“We got you out of there. Winston told us to lie low, so I brought you home.” Home? That…sounded nice. Home with Jesse. It was hard to think, but Jesse wouldn’t lie. They were home. Together._

_“Trees are real pretty here. Come out and look.”_

_Jesse had moved outside and off the porch to stand beneath one of the trees. Hanzo hadn’t heard him move. Oh, but he was right though. The trees were beautiful – just like he’d remembered them. The pink petals floated down on a soft breeze. They never seemed to form a pile. Just…drifted down through the grass at McCree’s feet. For some reason, it seemed normal. Jesse’s face looking back at him said it was too._

_They were in Hanamura. At Shimada castle. The huge building lumbered up behind them and cut up against the blue sky. Hanzo’s brows furrowed. Something was off._

_The air crackled suddenly, like right before a lightning strike. The air was shimmery. Hot. His teacup was gone, but Jesse was still standing there. Smiling at him. Hanzo could smell his cologne and the cigar smoke that was just so…him. It made him calm and the air seemed to calm with him. It was even better when Jesse wrapped him up in a hug. The air stopped fluttering and Hanzo took a deep breath._

_“You should go back to sleep, honeybee.”_

_As if on cue, deep exhaustion filled him. He was just so warm, and Jesse was so perfect. Big and broad and safe. So safe. Hanzo buried his face in his shoulder and let his eyes close. Sleep sounded so good. Especially with both of Jesse’s warm, sturdy arms holding him like that._

_Wait, warm?_

_“Hush, don’t think about it. I got you,” Jesse whispered into his ear. “ **Sleep.”**_

_Darkness spread in over and through him like he was settling into a warm bath. He was safe. Jesse was there. Safe…it was time to sleep. No need to think…just…sleep…_

 

Thousands of miles away from Hanamura, Hanzo was crouched beside a bed in an expensive Italian flat. There was blood on the tip of his blade.

Mechanically, he stood and used the thick fabric of his sleeve to wipe it clean. Objective complete. He awaited instructions.

A beep in his ear came in right on time. He pressed two fingers to it, waited for the signal to connect.

“ _Dragon,”_ a monotone voice spoke. He went rigid and blank – ready for the command. Hanzo listened. He could do nothing but listen until they told him what came next. _“Coordinates as follows: 9.0765_ ° _north, 7.3986_ ° _east. Two days. You will await instructions.”_

Hanzo absorbed the information like a sponge, the command sitting heavy and irresistible in his focus. He was blinded to the rest. But he didn’t move until the voice droned again.

_“Let’s get to work.”_

His back straightened. His pupils dilated. His hand fell from where it pressed to the comm. The command was set. This room meant nothing now.

The flat was quiet and dark again. The breeze that floated above the Italian high-rises brushed against the curtains. Down below, car horns honked. Flocks of pigeons billowed past the open window. It was a warm night.

The cleaning lady would find the body the next morning after dropping her heavy load of towels and screaming.

 

* * *

 

 

The news broke the story about the murder of Italian politician Piero Fiorini the next morning. One precise cut right to the base of the spine, deep enough to paralyze from the waist down and then slice right through the abdominal aorta. Same as the others. Bleeding was quick and profuse. _Professional._ Not an ounce of emotion to it.

The fact that Fiorini had been secretly participating in illegal trade with _yakuza_ clans under the table came to light a few hours later. Interpol was officially investigating the case and its ties with Japan, but had no leads. No murder weapon, no suspects, no evidence.

Enough was enough. They were closing in on Numbani little by little, whoever they were, and Winston came to the quick conclusion that Overwatch had officially run out of time. They hadn’t had much to begin with, but with it only being a four-hour flight between the crime scene and Numbani, the ticking of the clock only intensified. The gauntlet had to be protected. Doomfist could not be allowed to reclaim his namesake.

The intelligence gathered from Sombra had everyone on the team shaken. Those who had been around long enough to remember the French brunette who had graced their halls years earlier were more heavily influenced than the others. Those who had only known Hanzo weren’t much better off.

Winston had holed himself up in his lab and had refused to come out until it was time to go. The uncharacteristically antisocial behavior didn’t go unnoticed, but there wasn’t much anyone could say. Lena couldn’t even coax him out with the promise of peanut butter.

Constant flashes of light came from under the door. Athena told everyone she was keeping an eye on him whenever they asked – his blood pressure was higher than normal, but he _was_ eating when she reminded him. It soothed their worries a fraction, which was better than nothing.

McCree focused on training to distract himself. He hadn’t left the shooting range since he’d dropped the bomb from Sombra on the rest of his team. A pile of heavy shell casings sat next to his foot as he pressed the button for the targets to reset for the billionth time. He’d occasionally kick his foot through them in frustration, scooping them up and throwing them around just to hear the satisfying ricochet bouncing off the walls. The silence in between shots was the worst part. He longed for the steady thwack of an arrow piercing a target to ground him.

Sometimes he would turn and spot a shadow on a ledge, expecting to see Hanzo perched and watching with a proud smirk. After a few steps forward with baited breath and a hopeful heart, the light would change, the ledge would be empty, and he’d remember just how utterly alone he was. How Hanzo wouldn’t be there; _couldn’t_ be there. In just a few hours, he’d be forced to trade blows with a man he couldn’t get out of his head.

He only spun on his heel and turned the lights off to leave when the targets started having Hanzo’s face.

The rest went through the motions as they prepared to leave though their minds were far elsewhere. Torbjorn worked with newfound vigor on his ‘secret weapon’ as he called it, only stopping for the occasional sandwich or when something exploded. Following suit, Hana showed a remarkable amount of discipline herself, barely poking her head up from under her mech to take a swig from her liter of Mountain Dew every few hours. Her forehead and cheeks were covered with splotches of grease. There was sweat staining her light blue tank top. She switched it out for a new one once the color blue became unbearable to look at. No one could blame her.

They flew out on a cloudy, humid morning. The Orca was more crowded than usual, though everyone could always count on Lena being at the helm. Surprisingly, Winston sat beside her this time, his robotic suit equipped with all new panels and armor. In fact, the only agents _not_ in attendance were Fareeha, who was still assisting Helix, and Mei, who had chosen to stay behind and babysit Sombra. The emotional turmoil of this mission had the climatologist longing for some peace and quiet. Winston was happy to provide it if she promised to alert him if any problems arose. It didn’t matter how determined Winston was – henpecking was just part of his charm.

Genji had fought long and hard to be allowed to join. At first, Winston had been _severely_ against it, arguing that he was too emotionally compromised to be effective on the field. McCree too, for that matter, had been walking a tightrope in that regard.

Oddly enough, it was a closed-door conversation between the cyborg and the ape that had gotten them both off the hook. Genji wouldn’t tell McCree what he’d said. Winston wouldn’t either. It raised warning bells, especially since Genji had been downright froggy since his episode in the hallway. The cowboy inferred that it had something to do with Zenyatta’s presence floating beside him, and left it at that. He wasn’t sure what good the monk would be in a fight, but if it kept Genji calm then he was all for it.

There was no stealth to be found in this mission plan. Winston had made that clear. Everyone was to stay within each other’s line of sight for the duration unless compromised. He didn’t have to explain _why_ he felt that way. Everyone glanced sideways at the gold ribbon tied around McCree’s Stetson and nodded.

They touched down around midday. Numbani was huge and bustling, littered with tall skyscrapers and colorful people. The air was thick and hot, filled with the perfumes of a thousand different cuisines from all different angles. Glass towers stretched into the sky, bending and twisting in inorganic shapes. Long, flamboyant tapestries lined the broad walkways, signaling the upcoming Unity Day Celebration. Even the citizens all seemed just happy to be there, passing smiles and kind words to the strange newcomers that were traveling towards the museum.

“Didn’t I tell you guys this place was awesome?” Lucio crowed, spinning with his hands in the air to gesture at everything around them.

“Just wish we were here on better circumstances…” Hana said through the speakers of her mech, frowning. “My fans around here would probably _die_ to see me show off the upgrades I installed.”

 The mechanical suit had been given a new coat of paint and a new heavy-duty gun system. Even the shocks in the legs seemed quieter. If they all weren’t so stressed out, it would have been extremely impressive for someone so young.

“Don’t let yourself get charmed so easily,” Torbjorn grunted, absently tossing a small box up in the air and catching it as he spoke. “Talon has probably already sunk its fangs into this city. Mark my words, those damn buzzards are probably circling us as we speak.”

“I find this place most peaceful,” Zenyatta commented, floating towards the back of the group. “A place where omnic and human live as equals. Were these not such dire circumstances, I think I could feel quite at home here.”

“Tch, you _would_ ,” Torbjorn muttered with a derisive snort. “Wouldn’t catch me hanging around a place like this.”

“All right, fan out,” Winston interrupted, pulling up a tablet and pressing a few buttons. “The Doomfist exhibit should be right within the front doors. The gauntlet will be at its center, so we won’t need to move too far inside. McCree, Tracer, Genji, Lucio and Hana stay outside – McCree and Hana will be your ranged combat agents, Genji and Tracer handling close. Lucio will play healer. Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Angela and myself will stay inside to maintain the functions of the gauntlet’s protective field. Zenyatta…uh, you…stay out here too, I guess.”

“What if someone comes in through the back?” Tracer asked quizzically, adjusting her goggles.

“Athena has a real-time scan going and will alert me to any heat signatures moving through the building. But we should keep our eyes peeled anyway. I couldn’t think of a proper excuse that would close down the museum _and_ keep from getting Interpol’s attention, so there’ll be civilians.”

“So be prepared for heavy fire and lots of _violence_ but also keep an eye out for little Billy and the school bus full of fourth graders here on a field trip. _Great,_ ” Hana said sarcastically, turning the mech around to eye the street.

“Hey, _you_ try thinking of something that can effectively shut down a famous landmark during an international festival and then we’ll talk. Until then, just do it, okay?” Winston grumbled, jutting his chin out in aggravation. Playful banter was familiar. They were happy to indulge in it, if only for a few minutes.

The four agents pushed open the doors and ignored the wide-eyed stares of the patrons that were already milling about inside. McCree took his spot near a pillar outside, resting his back against it while he kept his eyes skyward. Too many damn rooftops. Too many ledges and places to hide. The thought came to him unbidden that Hanzo’s presence would make this job _so_ much easier. He nearly bit his tongue when he realized _he_ was who they were defending _against._

He flicked his eyes over to look at Genji appraisingly while he lit a fat cigar. The cyborg was eerily calm, given the circumstances, even with Zenyatta’s presence nearby. He would occasionally see the omnic place a hand on his shoulder, whisper something soft into his ear. Genji would nod and keep his eyes to the floor. McCree found himself staring not for the first time that day. They were gearing up for something, like a coach prepping his boxer in the corner of a ring.

“Hey McCree?” Hana suddenly asked him from a few feet away, leaning back in her seat inside the mech with her hands behind her head.

“Yeah, kid?” he answered, exhaling smoke into the air.

“I hope he doesn’t show up,” she said softly.

The cowboy kicked at a patch of dirt on the ground and let his eyes rove over the sharp outcroppings and half-open windows above him. He rolled the cigar around in his teeth and ran the ends of the gold ribbon around his hat through his fingers.

“Yeah. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

They all took turns dozing when it looked like no one was showing up on the first day. The streets never emptied completely, even long after the sun had gone down and the lamps had lit. Vendors continued to light burners under broad metal cooking drums, laughter continued to pour from rambunctious crowds traveling from bar to bar. Music played in echoed tones somewhere far off, heavy with drums and chanting voices.

No one _really_ slept. The encroaching danger kept them all skittish, even after the museum closed and they were left alone with the brutal weapon inside. By the end they were all exhausted but almost too tired to feel it.

Movement wasn’t spotted until the sun began to rise the next morning.

Tracer saw her first. How the spider had gotten so close to them was anyone’s guess, but it didn’t matter much once the first shot shattered through the front window and into the box housing the alarm grid. It was a deafening distraction, Winston attempting to shout over the shrieking sirens inside while Torbjorn worked at dismantling them. McCree could barely make it out through the gap where the window used to be. _It’s Widowmaker! Eyes to the skies! Take her down!_

Tracer was two steps ahead of him. She flitted in and out of vision after the purple figure, causing the sniper to raise her weapon and retreat away from her vantage point. McCree tried to get a lock on her. When she attempted to swing from one building to the next, he clipped her line and sent her tumbling downwards. She landed with cat-like grace on a fire escape and squared off against Tracer one-on-one. The taller woman was nimbler, but what Tracer lacked in grace she made up for in pure tenacity. They collided when Widowmaker’s leg arched up and swiped past the shorter girl’s ear, Tracer’s fists coming out to block her at the shin.

It didn’t take long for the rest of them to have their hands full.

Hana had started shooting forward, her mech taking slow, even steps towards the incoming onslaught of Talon agents gunning for them. Civilians screamed and ducked for cover in alleys and buildings as they black-suited agents swarmed. Not just humans. _Omnics_ marched alongside them all, armed with lightweight automatics. They were relying on sheer numbers, but not skill. Many of their shots missed their targets by a landslide. The team took advantage.

Hana could take down a decent amount by herself. The mech held its own against wave after wave, defending against the majority while McCree fired upon any that got too close. Genji was out in front, slicing through anyone who got within range of his blade. Lucio skated along at their backs, peppering their attacks with strength-bolstering music. It didn’t take long before they’d made a decent dent against the enemy forces. They continued to pour in like ants, but with much less organization and prowess. They’d expected their initial attack to do the most damage. They hadn’t been expecting the entire Overwatch team.

The blaring alarm when suddenly quiet when Torbjorn slammed a heavy wrench down against it. Then distant helicopters could be heard approaching. McCree growled and reloaded for the umpteenth time, glancing over his shoulder into the building.

Winston was inputting commands into a console beneath the containment unit housing the gauntlet. The field would occasional flex and bow out, but by the time he was finished it had gone nearly opaque, strong enough to ward off any thieves who weren’t savvy enough to cut the power first.

A shout turned the cowboy’s head forward again. Two omnics ran at him from the right. A quick series of rapid-fire shots under his arm downed them into twitching metal heaps. Three more came from the side near Genji and aimed for the cyborg’s back while he was distracted. Zenyatta gathered his orbs into his hands and launched them like baseballs before they could even get there.

McCree tipped his hat back and let out a low whistle.

“Didn’t know y’had it in you, Zen!” he commented.

“It is good to fight alongside one of my brightest pupils,” he said simply, his voice remaining steadfast despite his newfound activity. “I do not feel joy in this, but I will defend those I care about.”

“Mighty kind of you,” McCree smirked, tossing and catching a flashbang before launching it into a group of human agents that had begun closing in. “Was startin’ to think you’d be breakin’ out a yoga mat or somethin’!”

“Is that customary?” Zenyatta asked with a hint of amusement. “I am afraid I do not own one.”

A heavy thud in the direction of where Tracer had been fighting drew McCree’s attention before he could reply. Widowmaker had been kicked onto her back, Tracer holding her pulse pistols at her threateningly. The woman was glaring up at her with contempt.

 _“_ Looks like we got ourselves a spider. Don’t get much better than that _,”_ McCree chimed into his comm, confidence budding in his chest. Tracer looked up at him with a relieved smile and choked out a laugh between sharp breaths. She pulled Widowmaker to her feet and kicked her rifle away, holding her there.

 _“Any sign of Reaper?”_ Winston asked, his attention still turned onto the security tech inside. “ _Or…”_

“No,” McCree cut him off, stepping forward to pistol-whip a shorter Talon agent and toss him to the side. Genji silently sheathed his katana when the last of his enemies fell at his feet. It had been bloody for certain, but for all intents and purposes it looked like the first attack was over.

But the helicopters were getting closer. McCree had a feeling he knew who was on them. He swallowed hard and clicked back the hammer of Peacekeeper. This wasn’t over. Not by a longshot.

“This was too easy,” Genji muttered, eyeing the remains before him as he voiced McCree’s thoughts. “We should not let our guards down. More will be coming.”

“Let ‘em come! Me and my mech are ready for some more action!” Hana laughed, the machine giving a little hop. “Haven’t had that much fun since the Starcraft tournament three years ago!”

“They had omnics with them,” Lucio said, kneeling by a downed humanoid. “I thought you were kidding when you said they were building an army. This is awful.”

“I’m thinkin’ that’s just the start of it,” McCree grunted, taking another few steps forward. “Tracer, she moves an _inch_ you pop ‘er one, got it?” he called over.

“Oh, you betcha!” she said with a toss of her head, winking at her taller prisoner. Widowmaker rolled her lip in disgust, her eyes flicking to her downed rifle nearby. “Don’t even _think_ about it,” Tracer warned, smirking. “Or you’ll be fittin’ to pop your clogs.”

“…do you always threaten your prisoners with idioms about _shoes_?” the other woman purred, arching a brow. “Pardon me if I do not shudder in fear, cherie.”

 _“ **Heat signatures detected from the rear of the building,”**_ Athena said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention away.

“Probably Reaper bringin’ in reinforcements,” McCree growled.

 _“We’ll need someone back here!”_ Winston said hurriedly. _“We’ll never be able to hold off an attack on both fronts like this! It looks like a smaller group – one of you split off to hold the fort with Reinhardt.”_

McCree and Genji shared an understanding nod and soon the cyborg was off, followed diligently by his master.

He took over Genji’s abandoned position, Hana and Lucio spreading out to make up the space. There was commotion behind them – McCree could feel the telling shake of the earth at his feet that meant Reinhardt was barreling through some poor unfortunate clods with his hammer. Gunfire followed. McCree almost felt _bad_ for the men and omnics that were taking the brunt of that thing.

That is, until the helicopters finally passed overhead.

They were military grade, flying over in triangular formation between the rooftops of the skyscrapers. Their rotor blades cast dark, flickering shadows over the agents beneath, disappearing and reappearing every time they crested a rooftop.

Time slowed down in rhythm with their whirring. It wasn’t until Widowmaker spoke with a lilting chuckle that McCree noticed one had broken off from the other two.

“Ah…looks like the cavalry has arrived.”

McCree’s breath hitched.

A black shadow fell from the side of the helicopter. It landed into a crouch on the very edge of a building overlooking them, the bunching of its muscles resembling a panther hiding in the grass. Broad shoulders. A compact frame. The shadow’s features were diminished into a mere silhouette by the sun at their back. Robotically, the figure stood at full height to regard them. McCree could barely make out a mask hiding the lower half of their face, thick black tactical gear stretching all the way up their throat. With another smooth motion, a thumb flicked up the hilt of the weapon at their side out of its sheath. A sword was drawn. A katana.

_Hanzo._

“No…” Hana nearly sobbed into her mic, breaking McCree’s trance. “No, no, **no** … _McCree…”_

Tracer had been momentarily distracted by her words enough for Widowmaker to make her move. A long leg spun the girl’s legs out from under her and then the sniper was making a dash for her gun. She hoisted it and stood, moved to fire, but Tracer was quick enough to blink away. It was Lucio that blasted towards the sniper now, causing the woman to retreat to a higher position. The DJ coasted along the wall after her, leaving the dull thrum of his music in his wake.

Hanzo launched forward and took the edge of a Unity Day celebratory banner to balance himself while he ran perpendicular to the glass windows of the skyscraper. He allowed himself to slide downwards until he could flip onto a ledge and run along it. He was getting closer. McCree couldn’t lift his gun.

“Fall back, McCree!” Tracer yelled, and he realized that she meant to engage so he wouldn’t have to. McCree shook his head in disbelief when his former lover and his current teammate hit the ground at the same time. Hanzo ducked and dodged easily away from her blows. In turn, she blinked away and out of range of his sword. When she pulled out her pulse pistols and moved to fire at him at close range, McCree could feel the scream welling up in his throat for her to stop.

He wouldn’t have to. The weapon’s shots bounced off her opponent’s form and careened into nearby brick and mortar.

 _“He’s got a bloody shield!”_ she yelled into her comm. _“I repeat- don’t attempt to fire at Hanzo! He has a- “_

Hanzo caught her by the throat before she could finish, his free hand snapping out like a viper to lift her beneath the chin. The girl struggled and kicked, choking against the grip that threatened to cut off her air. Her pistols were dropped, forgotten in favor of clawing at Hanzo’s hand. The man seemed unmoved.

 _“Tracer, copy! Did you say Hanzo was here?! Tracer, **copy!**_ ” Winston yelled into the comm. McCree couldn’t move to answer him. Air felt like soup in his lungs.

“Blink, Tracer!” Hana yelled, her mech plowing forward towards the pair. “ _Blink!”_

McCree felt the breeze of the machine pass him. This all felt like some horrible dream. He was helpless but to spectate.

 Electricity shot through Hanzo’s arm and into the helpless girl in his grip. McCree jumped. Tracer convulsed, sputtered, then fell the ground unconscious while her chronal accelerator sparked. In a moment, she was there and the next she was gone. Hanzo stared down blankly at the place she had been, barely registering the massive machine rolling towards him.

“Damn it, _Hanzo!”_ Hana cried, tears in her voice. “Stop! Just _fucking stop!”_

McCree finally found his legs. He rushed forward behind her like a man possessed, firing blindly in Hanzo’s direction. The ripped into the stone at his feet or the bark of a tree over his shoulder. He couldn’t hit him if he tried. With an anguished cry, he stopped to shakily reload while Hana pushed her mech forward. This wasn't Hanzo anymore. This _wasn't Hanzo-_

The man lifted his head. Empty eyes stared at the imposing machine. Unwavering. Calculating. He drew his sword to the side and flicked his wrist. The edges of the blade glowed red. McCree didn’t know what was coming. But Hanzo’s steady form made him panic.

“Hana, bail!” he screamed. “Hana, goddamn it, _eject!”_

She barely did it in time.

The inertia of the mech pushed it forward while Hanzo pointed the blade upwards and fell to his knees, gutting the machine open like a fish. The girl flew out, rolled, and scrambled to lean against the wall with a badly scraped arm to watch her poor mech crumble forward. She let out a strangled sob and let her tears pull through the dusty tracks on her cheeks. McCree got to her and reigned her back. His eyes were on Hanzo.

And now Hanzo’s eyes were on _him._

“Go, Hana,” he commanded, pulling the girl roughly behind him. “Get Genji. Go find Mercy. Just…just _fucking do it.”_

When she ran, Hanzo didn’t seem inclined to follow. He just stood in front of the burning wreckage of the mech, sword drawn. McCree told himself he didn’t recognize the man in front of him. He got the distinct impression that the feeling was mutual.

Hanzo was indeed head-to-toe in protective black shielding. Kevlar covered his hands, feet, and even his throat. Coppery red sinews traveled from his back and along his sleeves – must have conducted the electrical currents, McCree thought dumbly. Like a taser. The lower half of his face was covered by a matte black mask, thin slits controlling his breathing. His skin was muted and ashen; his hair had been cut short but long enough to fit into his trademark ponytail. They’d let him keep the bridge piercing. Probably couldn’t be bothered to remove it. Something in McCree’s heart split down the middle when he saw the glint of it beneath Hanzo’s brow.

His eyes were the worst. Even from this distance. The cowboy let out a ragged sob. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t know this man.

He fired at him.

The bullet bounced off the field around Hanzo, but McCree saw where it landed before it did. Square between the eyes.

_He would have just killed Hanzo._

He dropped his gun, betrayed by his own hand. Hanzo stepped forward, the Kevlar swishing with the friction of his legs.

Another blade met Hanzo’s before he could reach McCree.

Genji was pushing his brother back, his back to the cowboy, meeting his blows with his own with a loud clash. Hanzo was powerful, but Genji was faster. He ducked beneath a well-timed swipe, bent backwards to avoid another. Hanzo used a hard metal leg to knee into Genji’s ribs. The Sparrow stumbled back, back-flipped, and landed with a hand clutching his side. The tear in his suit sparked. Hanzo watched it do so like he was watching paint dry.

“You can’t do this, Genj,” McCree yelled at his back. “We have to retreat, call for back-up. We can’t _handle_ this!”

“My brother deserves an honorable death,” Genji breathed, steam hissing from the vents in his suit. “I cannot allow this injustice to continue.”

“This is over our heads, Genji!”

Hanzo leapt forward again, completely uninterested in the conversation. Genji unsheathed his _wakizashi_ and swiped at Hanzo’s throat, barely missing, slicing the Kevlar open in a broad frayed slice. Hanzo headbutted him once the blade was out of the way. Genji’s faceplate cracked. Hanzo’s forehead bled. While the cyborg stumbled back, caught reeling by the action, Hanzo didn’t seem to notice the blood that was trickling down over the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even bother wiping it away.

“Hanzo…Hanzo baby, I know you’re in there,” McCree forced through gritted teeth, rushing forward to reach Peacekeeper and pull a flashbang from his belt. He tried to yank Genji away but the other man was too close. “Hanzo, _please listen to me._ This is your _brother_ , Han. It’s _Genji._ ”

Hanzo was undeterred. Another step. Then another. He brought the katana up with both hands to strike down through the cyborg’s clavicle. The point rested against him, cutting into the artificial flesh.

“Dragon.”

Hanzo stopped. Froze, actually. His blade remained unmoved where it stuck into Genji, who was pressed back against a wall with McCree at his side. The cowboy watched the black mist gather at Hanzo’s back. He pulled Genji away, the katana tearing a slice in its wake. It was better than dying to it, McCree reasoned. Genji’s hiss of pain was a small price to pay for getting him away from a repeated meeting with his brother’s blade.

“Stand down,” hissed Reaper, his white mask cutting into the dark cloud that formed into shoulders, arms, and makeshift legs. Hanzo reflexively lowered the weapon. Sheathed it. Stood with his arms at his sides. Reaper chuckled a little at McCree’s tortured expression.

“Move out. We got what we came for. Back to the chopper. Fifteen minutes.”

He cocked his head to the side. McCree could _feel_ the grin behind the mask. He wanted to slice it off at the shoulders. He wanted to pull Hanzo in for an embrace. He wanted to do _lots_ of things, but only managed to point the barrel of Peacekeeper at the wispy black assassin as he edged in closer. Genji raised his hand to protect the pair with his own katana.

“Sorry, lover boy. We’ve got work to do. Give my regards to the monkey.”

He turned his back to them and flipped his head to look at Hanzo. “Let's get to work.”

Hanzo’s back straightened. His pupils dilated. This place meant nothing now. He spun on his heel while his face still bled, following Reaper obediently with calm, deliberate steps. McCree grabbed at his wrist.

“I’m gonna find you, Han,” he breathed desperately, gripping tightly with his mechanical hand. “I ain’t gonna stop till I find you. I’m gonna bring you back. Even if it kills me, I’m gonna bring you back.”

Hanzo didn’t react. His wrist slipped from McCree’s grip and he kept walking, ignoring the way the cowboy fell to his knees behind him.

Genji was crying beneath his cracked faceplate. McCree could hear him, but was in no position to help. He fell forward, supported on all fours while he glared into the dirt.

 _“M-Mc…s-status…comm malfu-unctioning…McCree…”_ It was Mercy. McCree felt his resolve break along with his voice when he answered her call.

“Help,” he croaked, drawing in a deep breath. “Just…please help us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo he's back. 
> 
> wanna say hi? I have a tumblr:  
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com 
> 
> ...and a twitter, where i'll post stupid shit and update garbage:  
> twitter.com/heysugarmaddy
> 
> or buy me a ko-fi:  
> ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	25. The Enemy of My Enemy is My...?

“Bastards came running in with EMP pumps.” Torbjorn was scuffed and furious, holding an ice pack to his forehead that Mercy had given him. “The dinky little handheld ones. What kind of idiotic omnic willingly picks up its own means of destruction and carries it around like a damn cell phone?”

“The kind that can’t think for themselves,” Mercy supplied, kneeling beside Genji with her hands pressed over his ribs. “And the way I see it, it’s the same principle as humans running around with guns anyway. All of it is deplorable.”

“Those things could take out a damn Bastion unit, much less a standard model. One wrong shot and they could have taken out their entire regiment. It just doesn’t sound like good battle strategy.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lucio huffed, tugging off one of his skates to wiggle his toes in the air. “They got the gauntlet. We got beat.”

“Mm…well it wasn’t a _total_ loss…”

The group stopped and looked at Winston with curious faces. They were all hunkered in a circle where the exhibit had once been, leaning on various debris or sitting on the floor. Only two agents were missing from those gathered – McCree, who was lingering near the front door, and Tracer, who was still flitting about unhindered by time. They would have to wait for her to reappear before Winston could effectively repair her chronal accelerator, but the ape was already tinkering away at some makeshift parts as he sat on a crate near the wall.

“Uh…remind me why it’s not a total loss?” Lucio asked. “Lena’s playing Invisible Man, Hanzo’s gone Anakin Skywalker and now the bad guy has his boxing glove. Totally sounds like the definition of ‘total loss’ to me.”

With his prehensile feet, Winston grabbed at a device near his crate and tossed it to the man. It was only about the size of a television remote, and emitted a soft beeping noise. A dot blinked on the display, steadily moving away from their location.

“A tracker?” Lucio asked, showing it to Torbjorn and Reinhardt, the latter of which having come to peer over his shoulder.

“I attached it to the gauntlet in case we ran into something we weren’t expecting,” Winston explained, part of his tongue sticking out while he tightened a small screw in his hand. “So while all those things you ticked off are correct, we can at _least_ say we made some progress. We know where they’re going.”

“And how does that help us, exactly?” Mercy inquired, smoothing out a temporary patch to Genji’s side. The cyborg was unusually quiet, though no one really had to ask why.

“We can regroup and go after them,” Winston said matter-of-factly. “Athena and I can do some research on the layout of their base, and now that we know what kind of enemy they’ll be using, we can-“

“ _Winston_ , be serious!” Mercy said. “Everyone is injured, we’re down to _very_ limited resources, and now the enemy has a distinct advantage over us.” She shook her head and stood, moving to now examine Reinhardt’s shoulder, which had been sprained during the fight. He tentatively rolled it and hissed, bringing up a meaty hand to press into the muscle. Mercy clucked her tongue.

“I mean…she’s got a point, big guy,” Lucio reluctantly agreed, rubbing the back of his head. “We haven’t exactly been successful in any of our missions against Talon so far. Detroit we got our butts handed to us, Siberia we got our butts handed to us, and I think what they did to us today _definitely_ left us with big ol’ handfuls of our own butts. I’m…not sure we’re situated to win, here.”

“I miss my mech,” Hana sniffled, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t fight without it. I just _can’t._ ”

“I can fix that, missy, don’t you worry,” Torbjorn said comfortingly, patting her knee. “I’ll have her back up in fighting shape in no time!”

“We’re moving away from the point,” Mercy frowned. She sighed and glided across the floor to stand in front of Winston, then kneeled and looked up at him. He furrowed his brows but didn’t lift his eyes from what he was tinkering on.

“We have to face facts, Winston,” she said softly. “We aren’t the Overwatch that you and I remember. We can’t sit here and delude ourselves into thinking we’re the same.” She put her hand on the scientist’s shoulder, drawing his eyes up finally. She met his gaze with a forced smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I know you want to save the world, Winston. We _all_ do. But…the world is _different_ now.”

“She’s right.”

McCree had suddenly appeared from his spot by the door, the sound of his spurs having been overshadowed by the conversation. He looked positively _sick_ , his skin having taken on a pallor that was reserved for corpses. His eyes were puffy. His fists were clenched. It was enough to make everyone hang on what he had to say.

“You can’t honestly believe that, McCree,” Winston said, disappointed. “You? Of all people?”

“Nah, she’s right, Winston. The world is different.” Now the sound of his spurs filled the room as he took careful, deliberate steps over to Lucio, who was still holding the tracker in one hand. Silently, the cowboy extended his palm and waited for Lucio to hand it over. McCree brought the piece of equipment up to look at it like some lost artifact he’d found in a cave.

“We ain’t got a Jack Morrison or a Gabriel Reyes. We ain’t got planes and firepower and hundreds of boots on the ground. We’re little. Kinda busted. Ain’t fit for takin’ on the same kind of shit we could back then. But… _shit…_ ”

McCree turned and slowly handed Winston the tracker. The ape looked down at it and then back up at him, confused. The cowboy met the look with a shaky smile.

“Maybe since the world’s different…we oughta be too.”

Winston slowly mirrored his smile and gave a hearty nod. Lucio tried to start a slow-clap, but after a few seconds realized no one was going to join in and let his fade out. He whistled instead. McCree just turned and kneeled next to Genji.

The cyborg pressed his hand to the patch on his side and very slowly turned his head to meet McCree’s eyes. His faceplate was gone, too damaged to stay in place, so the scars and wounds of his past were bared for all to see. But he of all people knew that when McCree looked at him, he didn’t even notice them.

“I don’t know about you, but I ain’t one to take shit like this lyin’ down,” he said. “An’ if Hanzo could see all the sad sackin’ I’ve been doin’ lately instead of workin’ to get him back? Well, he’d kick my ass worse than he did today.” That coaxed a rueful laugh out of the younger man, which broke into a huffed sob at the end. McCree didn’t let up.

“I’m bringin’ his ass home, Genj. And I’m takin’ out those motherfuckers that took him from us. They got no idea the kind of hell that’s comin’ for ‘em. But I can’t do it alone…you in?”  

He held his hand up for Genji to grip. A flash of the old McCree sparked up behind that frail smile and in those determined eyes. Genji’s eyes were still wet with sorrow, but it took almost no time at all for him to slap his palm into McCree’s and grip tightly. Zenyatta floated beside him and set a hand on his shoulder, radiating pride for his pupil.

“Brothers in arms until death and beyond,” he responded in a low growl, the edges of his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Just try to do some actual fighting this time. I know I am good, but I cannot take on everyone while you cower behind your gun.”

“Cheap shot!” McCree wailed. “An’ here I’m soundin’ all noble an’ shit an’ you gotta ruin it.”

“Hey, lemme get in on that action!” Lucio laughed, slapping his hand down over Genji and McCree’s.

“Me too!” Hana piped up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands and gripping McCree’s wrist with the other. “McCree’s right! And just because I don’t have my mech doesn’t mean I can’t whoop some tail! Hanners has to come home!”

“Hah! This is the spirit of Overwatch at work!” Reinhardt boomed, engulfing half of their hands in his own gigantic fist. “It is one thing Talon cannot destroy!”

“So what are we standing around for? There’s work to be done!” Torbjorn bellowed, placing his claw down on top of the pile of hands.

Winston was grinning proudly by the time all the faces turned back to him. He even had to adjust his glasses and wipe his eyes.

“Aw, Winston!” Hana giggled. “Are you _crying_?”

“No!” he sniffled. “I just…got a bit of rubble in my eye!”

“So cute!”

McCree slowly removed his hand from the group and stood, facing Angela. The woman was staring at all of them with a mix of surprise, adoration and hesitation. But McCree was smiling expectantly at her all the same, walking to stand next to her with a hand on her shoulder.

“C’mon, Doc. Gonna need someone to patch us all up after this is all over.”

“Hey!” Lucio yelped in indignation. “I’m a pretty good medic too, you know!”

McCree threw him a pointed look and Lucio’s jaw snapped shut, his mouth then forming a silent ‘o’. He shot them both with finger guns.

“Right! Yeah, of course! I’m good but I’m not _that_ good. Come on, Ms. Mercy! Join the cool kids club!”

Angela worried her lower lip between her teeth as she quietly contemplated. McCree was slowly putting his weight into her to hurry her along, a broad, obnoxious grin on his face. He looked like shit, but no one could resist that grin for long. _Especially_ Angela.

“…alright,” she relented, allowing a smile to quirk up the corners of her mouth. “So we _maybe_ share a few common elements with the Overwatch we all remember. It would be remiss of me to allow all of my best patients to go running off into the sunset without proper medical care.”

“So…you’re in too?” the cowboy asked, smirking. “No more of that ‘we don’t have what it takes’ crap?”

“Oh, we probably don’t have what it takes,” she said, bringing a hand up in front of her mouth to chuckle behind it. “But I _am_ in. I was the one who put Hanzo in this predicament after all.”

“Angie…I got a feelin’ this shit woulda gone down eventually anyway. Much as I hate to admit it.” The cowboy frowned and released her shoulder, tossing a nod over to Winston. The rest of the group followed suit.

“So. What’s the plan?”

The ape blinked. “Uh…I haven’t…uh…”

“Well _that’s_ anticlimactic,” Hana muttered, earning a laugh. It was good to hear. They hadn’t _really_ felt this motivated since the beginning of the Recall.

“I’ll think of something!” Winston defended, sputtering. “Forgive me for being a bit unprepared – we’re sitting in the middle of a ransacked museum, thousands of miles away from our base of operations! I have to change our focus away from primarily human targets to omnics, so this will take some-“

“Hey,” McCree commented, lifting a firearm from the floor. The thing was long – longer than a shotgun, with what looked like a small satellite dish at the end. “This one of those EMP things y’all were talkin’ about?”

“Uh…yes,” Winston said, eyebrows raising. “Be careful around Genji and Zenyatta with that thing. Pointed at the right target, EMP is really damaging. They were using it against the security system to get the gauntlet, but if they hadn’t been careful-“

“They woulda knocked themselves to kingdom come,” McCree finished, testing the weight in his hands. It wasn’t Peacekeeper, but it still felt pretty good. “…think you can make a bigger one?”

Winston’s face contorted into a look of confusion, but slowly realization set in.

“Definitely. Though I’m not sure I can figure out anything that’s big enough to take out an army in enough time.”

“Don’t we have Talon’s bomb?” Hana pointed out, laying over Reinhardt’s shoulder like a cat over the arm of a chair. “You said it had all kinds of energy, right? Couldn't you turn that into some kind of EMP thingy?”

“I…well, yes, actually. Why didn’t I think of that?” Winston asked, tapping his chin. 

“Sombra said they tested omnic brains to put together whatever they did to Han,” McCree said thoughtfully, bringing the weapon up and squinting his eye to aim. “She said they were lil’ machines, right? So…in all fairness, couldn’t a blast from one of these things…?”

“That would be _extremely_ dangerous, Jesse,” Angela warned, folding her arms. “We don’t know if the… _’treatment’_ altered any of his brain functions permanently. Or if it will allow for a transition back to normal. In _theory_ it could _potentially_ work, but on the other hand…”

“It could kill him,” McCree finished, tightening his jaw. He…wasn’t sure how he felt about those odds. It was barely even a fifty-fifty. They were dealing with a whole hell of a lot of unknown variables here.

But Jesse was familiar with dealing with unknown variables.

“Still the best idea we got,” he decided. “It’ll knock out that lil’ force field they got ‘im rigged up with, too. If I can immobilize ‘im, we can at least get ‘im back to base so we can figure it out.”

“We still need to figure out how we’re getting there,” Lucio said, suddenly sounding distracted. His eyes were out the front window. Well, where the front window _used_ to be.

“Infiltration has never really been a problem for some of us,” Winston chuckled, reaching forward to thwap Genji on the arm. “I’m sure we’ll manage. It’s getting _out_ that’s always an issue.”

“Uh…no, I um. I meant…how we’re gonna from _here_ to _there_ with those dudes in the way…”

He slowly raised a finger to point out the front door and all eyes followed.

**_“This is the Numbani military! On behalf of the United Nations, we order you to come out with your hands up or we will be forced to fire upon you!”_ **

Uh oh.

There were _tanks._ Two of them, long gun barrels pointed their way and staring at them like eyes through a telescope. Winston counted at least fifteen machine guns after the first cursory glance, held by poised soldiers dressed in thick green camo.

“…uh…was this part of the plan…?” McCree asked out of the side of his mouth to Winston, raising both hands.

“Not a chance,” Winston said through his teeth, feigning a wide smile. He, too, lifted his hands and the rest of the agents did the same. Together they slowly exited the building, only to be roughly grabbed and tackled.

“This seems familiar,” McCree laughed, shoved against the side of a tank as he was patted down.

So much for feeling like heroes.

 

* * *

 

  

They were flown out of Numbani in military helicopters, cuffed and treated like criminals. It was really only a matter of time before their actions sparked the attention of the UN. They were, after all, completely in violation of the Petras Act from the very start. They’d been _lucky_ at the very best, and unfortunately it looked like their luck had run out. And, as usual, it was at the most inopportune of times.

Mei was having her own set of problems when they touched down at the base, facing down a litany of orders being thrown at her by men with walkie-talkies and military haircuts. The climatologist was red in the face as she stood at the entrance, hands on her hips while Snowball flitted back and forth behind her shoulders and into the soldier’s face. If she wasn’t at least a foot shorter than him, she would be giving the guy a run for his money in the intimidation department.

 They’d shown up there around the same time they had in Numbani. _Someone_ had tipped the UN off to who was behind the disturbance at the museum. How convenient.

“Gentlemen, just let me speak to your superiors! I’m sure we can figure something out!” Winston attempted to reason once they escorted him to the front of the base. “We were only defending the Doomfist gauntlet from Talon agents –“

“Sir, our superiors are well aware of what you _think_ you were doing,” the man responded above the whir of the helicopter blades. He resembled Jack Morrison in his hay-day: all clean cut and straight lines. He was not interested in Winston’s attempt to negotiate. In fact, he seemed more interested in keeping his posture straight. “You and your… _associates_ are to be held here until further action can be decided upon.”

“Woah, woah, _woah_ , y’can’t keep us under house arrest!” McCree butted in, nudging Winston with his shoulder until he had pushed him over enough to be in the soldier’s line of sight. “We got a job to do!”

“The UN will be handling this investigation from here on out,” he said with a grunt. “All of your evidence will be confiscated and turned over to designated personnel.”

“This is _horseshit!”_ Jesse exclaimed, whipping his hat off his head. “Total fuckin’ _horseshit._ You an’ your goons are pissin’ me off, you know that?”

“I’m sure,” he responded coolly, giving the cowboy an up and down.

“Officer-“

“Captain.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s _Captain_ ,” the soldier scowled. “Not officer.”

“Oh…uh, sorry, _Captain_ ,” Winston corrected, “we fully intend to cooperate with you and your men, but we are actually in the middle of a very _time critical_ mission that involves the well-being of one of our agents…”

“The name of this agent?”

“Hanzo Shimada,” he blinked. “He has been captured by Talon enforcers, and is being held at-“

The man held up a hand and Winston fell silent.

“From what I have seen, Hanzo Shimada is _not_ an agent of Overwatch,” he said simply, raising an eyebrow.

“The _fuck_ is that s’posed to mean?” McCree growled. “The fuck _you_ know about anything?”

“I encourage you to turn on the news when you go inside,” he said, sounding moderately amused as he eyed Jesse like he was a circus clown. The cowboy _seethed._ “The anonymous tipster that led to your apprehension also tipped us off to the involvement of ex- _yakuza_ and assassin Hanzo Shimada in international criminal activity. He’s the most wanted man in the world right now.”

“It’s fuckin’ _Doomfist_!” McCree wailed, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. His eyes widened in alarm, and it didn’t take long for two men with guns to poise them over his shoulder and straight at the cowboy.

“Unhand his shirt, sir,” one of them commanded.

“Y’all are bein’ _played_ , y’damn idiots!” he yelled, shaking his head. “They’re _usin’_ him! Havin’ him do their dirty work so you morons will run around after the wrong guy!”

“Un. Hand. His. Shirt, sir,” the soldier commanded again. With a loud, frustrated growl Jesse released the Captain’s shirt and stormed away. Winston cringed – not a very good impression.

“He’s uh…he’s just a bit _agitated_ ,” he said with a nervous smile before turning and lumbering after him.

Genji met McCree at the door, falling in step beside him as he cursed and muttered under his breath.

“You should not antagonize them, McCree,” he said calmly. “We might be able to use their help to pursue Talon.”

“Those guys are about as useful as a bucket full o’holes,” he growled. “They took my damn _gun_.”

“Hey, vaquero! Mind, uh, mind helping a girl out?”

Jesse, Genji and Winston all looked up to see Sombra unceremoniously smashed against a wall, a soldier behind her tightening up a pair of handcuffs. The hacker wasn’t making it easy, squirming in his grasp and occasionally elbowing him in the sternum. She still looked hopeful, fixing Jesse with the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes she could muster. They almost rivaled Jesse’s. _Almost._

“What are you doing?” Winston asked, adjusting his spectacles.

“This is Sombra, correct? Hacker and fugitive? She’s a prisoner, so we’re taking her in. Pretty straight forward, actually.”

“And I’ve been _trying_ to tell him that I’m a member of Overwatch!” she interrupted, pointedly grinning at Jesse. “Which means they can’t take me!”

“How do you figure that?” the soldier asked, almost laughing.

“You idiotas put all members of Overwatch under house arrest, citing the Petras Act, _riiiiight?_ ”

“Uh, yeah?”

She grinned triumphantly, wiggling her eyebrows at Jesse. The cowboy raised one of his own in curiosity.

“So if I’m a member of Overwatch, I fall under the jurisdiction of the Petras Act too, dummy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Under the precedent set by _Nix vs Hedden_ , you can’t remove a member of an established organization if that organization is being penalized as a group or risk breaking the terms of the punishment. So either you let me stay _here_ to wait out the verdict against us _or_ you guys drag me off and let the rest of my _fellow agents_ go. Otherwise you face unlawful arrest charges against you and your stupid buddies.” She eyed him over her shoulder and then tossed her head so her hair was out of her face. “Seems pretty straightforward to me,” she mocked, batting her eyelashes.

“That…wait…is she right?”

The three men all shrugged in unison.

“So tell him, vaquero. I’m in Overwatch, _right?”_

Jesse narrowed his eyes and then let them flick over to Winston. The ape was in deep contemplation. You could practically _see_ the smoke coming out of his ears. But they all knew which direction he was going to go. The ape was a lot of things, but cruel was not one of them.

“Yep. Agent Sombra. Been an agent for a few months now.”

“So why was she in a _cell?_ ” the soldier asked, exasperated.

“Hey, that’s my _room_ , chico,” she huffed. “Just because a girl doesn’t like to accessorize and appreciates her privacy…”

The soldier looked from her, to the other three and then back again before angrily unhooking the cuffs.

“I’m coming back when I get someone to verify that you’re all full of shit,” he promised, jabbing the handcuff keys at them. “And when I do, I’m bringing enough cuffs for all four of you.”

“I look forward to it, hermoso,” she said, jutting her hip out and blowing him a kiss. He scowled, hoisted his gun back up on his shoulder, and stomped out.

McCree let out a low whistle once he was out of sight. “That was impressive.”

“What can I say? I’m good with my mouth.” She grinned lasciviously, buffing her nails on her shirt.

“Was all of that for real?” Genji asked. “That legal jargon?”

She snorted loudly and shook her head. “Pfft, baby, _Nix vs. Hedden_ was a case where they argued whether tomatoes should be taxed as a fruit or a vegetable. But by the time he goes out and finds someone who has a deep understanding of four-hundred-year-old legal battles, we’ll be out the door. It bought us some time.”

“Time for what?” Winston asked grumpily.

“Uh, time to go break cowboy’s boyfriend out of Spooky Town? _Duh?_ ”

“You are _not_ going,” he said quickly, before bringing his hand up to his head. “Wait, what are we talking about here? We’re being held hostage by the UN. _No one_ is going anywhere.”

“Oh come _on._ Live a little! You think Talon is playing by everyone’s rules all the time? That’s your mistake right there. Sometimes you gotta fight fire with fire!” she said, flashing bright teeth. “And you’ve got me! The brilliant and _extremely_ talented new member of Overwatch that _also_ happens to know her way around the Talon base.”

“You aren’t a member of Overwatch,” Winston deadpanned. “And I am _not_ allowing this kind of thing. We aren’t going to make any friends in the world by pulling back alley stunts with criminals.”

“Uh, isn’t cowpoke here a criminal?” she pointed out with an equally deadpan expression, pointing at a bewildered cowboy.

“That’s completely different.”

“Yeah, _okay._ Whatever you say,” she muttered, flapping her hand and turning her attention solely to McCree.

“You want your man out of there? You need _me._ You get me my stuff, we sneak out with Robot Boy here and we navigate that shithole ol’ Doomy calls home. I can hack into their security better than anyone and you know it. I’ll open the doors. You’ll be able to just _slide_ right in.”

She knew before she was even finished talking that she had him. She had him _bad._ McCree bit his lip and side-eyed Winston, who sputtered and took a step back.

“You can’t honestly be considering this! She almost killed you in Siberia!”

“It wasn’t anything _personal_ ,” she groaned. “Dios mio, I wasn’t even _there._ I was remote piloting the thing. I couldn’t even see you guys! Don’t be such babies.”

“Come on, Winston,” McCree pleaded, turning to face him fully. “It’s the best shot we _got._ We know where they’re at, we got the means to take out their whole operation and now we got someone who can get us _in.”_

“She could and probably _will_ double cross you!” he almost yelled, gesturing at the woman who blinked back at them innocently.

“I gotta do it for _him_ , Winston,” McCree said softly. “I got no choice. We’re both on the train.”

“What?”

“Just let me an’ Genji go. If we fuck up, you can claim you didn’t know. The rest of the team can stay innocent.”

The ape eyed the cyborg who had been standing silently against the wall with his arms folded. He gave him a barely-there smile and nodded. Winston turned his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever would listen.

“…I’m really, _really_ starting to regret pushing that Recall button.”

“Thatta boy!” McCree crowed, slapping the scientist on the back. “Knew I could count on you!”

“Don’t get excited yet,” he grumbled, turning to head towards his lab. Thankfully he’d hidden the bomb in a protective compartment behind his holoscreen. The military grunts had already come through to break down most of his equipment, but he’d made due with less. From the sounds of Torbjorn tossing wrenches down the hallway and yelling, the soldiers would probably give up long before they had confiscated everything. So between the two of them, they could come up with _something._

“It’ll take me some time to…set everything up,” he said, watching as a few soldiers meandered around the room, opening cabinets and pulling apart equipment. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose when one of them snapped something in half. “A _lot_ of time.”

“We need to leave tomorrow,” Sombra interjected, picking up an unattached gadget and looking beneath it.

“That’s not possible. There’s _planning_ that needs to be done. Equipment that needs to be gathered-“

She waited until the last soldier left the room before she pushed the button to slide the door shut and lock it.

“Look, think about what we already know. Doomfist has his gauntlet. He already had enough omnic forces made up to throw them at you like they were nada. Your boy has a sword that can cut through military-grade steel, the ability to shoot electricity out of his hands like a _wizard_ and a private force field. The fact that they’ve already tipped off the UN about you guys means everything is _ready._ We gotta move fast.”

“How could you possibly know all of that if you were confined to your cell during the battle?” Genji asked curiously.

“That little weather girl let me out so I could look over her shoulder while she was listening in,” Sombra shrugged. “She seems nice.”

“Damn it, Mei…” Winston growled.

“But you see what I mean,” she continued. “All the pieces are falling into place for them. The longer you wait, the more you run the risk of having something really _bad_ happen. We gotta _bounce._ ”

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do,” Winston threw up his hands, reaching beneath the table to gather up whatever tools were left over from the search. He was left with a soldering iron, a wrench, some spare wires and a few other miscellaneous knick-knacks. He jutted out his jaw and flared his nostrils. This was going to _suck._

“I doubt any of you can fly an aircraft,” he said, looking at them over his glasses.  They all looked between each other and then looked back at Winston. “Well that figures. Unless you plan on forcing one of those army pilots to fly you around like a chauffeur, you guys aren’t-“

**_“Winston. Pardon the interruption.”_ **

The ape blinked and turned to look at the computer screen behind him. Athena’s logo blinked in time with her words. “Uh…yes, Athena?”

**_“I have detected Agent Tracer in the location of the loading bay. She is conscious and has asked me to alert you to her presence in hopes that you may repair her chronal accelerator before the next flux in time. Next flux is estimated to take effect in approximately one hour, twelve minutes and thirteen seconds.”_ **

Sombra grinned smugly when Winston met her eyes. To add insult to injury, McCree shared her smug expression. Genji was the only one who looked genuinely surprised and concerned. Winston lamented the fact that the other two were such bad influences on him.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said, voice monotone. “Let Doctor Ziegler know where she is, please.”

**_“Of course.”_ **

“…you were saying?” Sombra asked, examining some dirt under her fingernails.

The ape chewed on his own tongue to fight back the urge to snap at her. After a pause, he turned his attention to the keypad that held the egg-shaped Talon bomb that he’d begun dismantling.

“Yeah...I’m having that Recall button tossed off a cliff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally a lighthearted chapter! this made me happy to write, even though it took a little longer. 
> 
> if you want to keep up with updates, i post them on my twitter: @heysugarmaddy  
> i love all of my followers and happily answer questions, chit chat, etc. :v
> 
> wanna say hey? I have a tumblr too:  
> tumblr.com/sugarmaddy
> 
> or buy me a ko-fi:  
> ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	26. Time for a Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my twitter: @heysugarmaddy
> 
> my tumblr: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com
> 
> buy me a ko-fi: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy
> 
> EDIT: changed a bit of the wording here and there. Nothing major. :>

_The sun was warm on his face when he rolled back over to curl into McCree’s side. His mind was still fuzzy, and he could do little but stretch languidly like a cat and snuggle in deeper._

_“I’m glad we’re here,” he heard him say into his hair._

_“I am too,” Hanzo said sleepily. He couldn’t remember how long they’d been there, but something told him not to worry about it. And he didn’t. Even when he noticed how the sun never seemed to set, or how there never seemed to be anyone else but them. Even when Jesse’s metal arm suddenly replaced his real one at random one day, missing a few parts and looking almost childlike. Like someone was trying to remember what it looked like…like_ he _was trying to remember…_

_“Just relax,” Jesse would say. “You’re safe. It’s fine.”_

_As soon as he’d start to wonder, things would start to fade. He’d get tired. Fall asleep. Thinking started to become much too cumbersome. Hanzo finally discovered that the less he thought, the less he’d worry, and the less he worried, the longer he could stay awake with Jesse._

_They’d spent day after day like this – curled up together, laying the day away under the soft sun filtering through the trees. Jesse smelled like tobacco and cologne, just like Hanzo was used to. No missions. No regrets. No pain or anger or stress. Just…paradise. Absolute paradise._

_“Have you heard from Genji?” he suddenly asked, sitting up and stretching. Beside him, Jesse’s form seemed to ripple and shudder like a reflection in a puddle at the question. Hanzo did a sharp double-take but found him solid only a second later. It…it had to be his imagination._

_“Don’t worry about him, darlin’,” Jesse said with a yawn and a stretch of his own. “He’s fine. Come on back to bed.”_

_Hanzo felt the telltale relaxation in his muscles that meant he was tiptoeing a line. He was thinking too much again._

_But this time he railed against it._

_“You cannot expect me not to worry,” he pressed with a light laugh. “He is my brother. And surely you are wondering how he is as well?”_

_Another flicker. This time Hanzo saw it and his laughter stopped._

_“Genji’s safe. Go easy, darlin’,” Jesse cooed, rolling to stand. “No sense in gettin’ all riled up. Just come on and go back t’sleep…”_

_His face was blurring in and out of focus. His beard changed in length at random like it was constantly changing its mind. Jesse’s shirt was suddenly red, then blue, then gone completely. Momentary flashes of color as the world crumbled around at their feet._

_Hanzo reeled back away from the cot they both shared and watched the castle above them shudder and flex. He could feel everything getting heavier as darkness closed in on his vision. Unescapable calm was oozing in like mud. **Relax,**_ _it urged, **don’t worry about it. You’re safe. Stay here. Sleep.** _

_It was wrong._

_This was_ wrong.

_He looked down at himself._

_No tattoos. No dragons. No scars or memories of hardship etched into his skin._

_No bowing to his father. No battling with Genji. No bullet wounds or stabs or knocks to the head. He even shakily felt between his eyes._

_No piercing there, either._

_“Wh-what has happened? Where…where am I?”_

_“You’re safe, honey,” Jesse soothed. He was slowly approaching with both hands raised, taking a step forward when Hanzo stepped back. “You’re with me. You’re with Jesse.”_

_“You are **not**_ _Jesse!” Hanzo cried. “You…you are not…not him…”_

_But things were getting too hard to concentrate on. He fell to his knees as the imposter Jesse slid up to him and enveloped him into a hug. The shade purred into his ear words of encouragement, telling him to go to sleep, to forget his troubles. And for one small second, Hanzo really, really wanted to._

_Right before he closed his eyes, he saw them. Two long ribbons in the distance – curling and intertwining against the unyielding sun like blue spirals of ice. He could hear his name in their roar. He felt the world flex and stretch around them._

_Before he lost consciousness completely, he saw them move. They were changing direction._

_They were coming right for them._

* * *

 

 

“The base is completely underground,” Sombra said as she tapped points on the holoscreen. Points attached to each other with glowing blue lines, formed rooms and hallways. She sketched exits and entrances, using Winston’s stylus to jot notes and draw small arrows. “They use an old aircraft repair site on the surface to cover the helicopters and stuff coming and going. But it’s basically out in the middle of nowhere.”

“And none of the locals wonder why their main clientele consists of military-grade helicopters?” Winston asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Honey, the locals are more concerned with how many sheep they can get for a gallon of clean water,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “They didn’t so much as sniff around when we moved in. They could care less if we don’t move in on their fields. And Akande isn’t running for ‘Farmer of the Year,’ so they’re basically background noise at this point.”

“Just where the hell is this place?” McCree asked, pulling a face.

 “New Zealand,” she said, placing both hands on the screen and pulling downward. The entire simulation she had drawn immediately unfolded like an accordion, leaving a roughly cone-shaped structure of rooms. She chopped her hand sideways, cutting off the three lower-most levels, and then stepped back with her hands on her hips to examine her handiwork.

“New Zealand?” McCree repeated. “Didn’t think there was much left out there after the Crisis.”

“There’s _not_ ,” she said with a snicker, taking some slow steps around the table. “After the omnium in Austrialia blew its top, the nuclear fallout stretched all the way out into the waterways for both countries and basically made the whole group of islands inhospitable. Even though New Zealand only got hit with the aftershocks since it's so far off, a lot of the population evacuated for the mainland- Asia, Africa. Wherever the shuttles would take them. Since the top few layers of soil couldn’t produce crops to feed livestock and they couldn’t fish, it was smart. But the ones that stayed figured it out. I don’t know how, but they did. _Mierda_ , I can’t even manage to keep a cactus alive…”

“Think we could move past the agricultural shit?” the cowboy grunted. “We’re runnin’ a bit short on time, here.”

“Just setting the mood, vaquero,” she snickered. “Don’t be so grouchy. You wanna get _more_ wrinkles for your grand reunion with archer boy?”

“ _Hey!_ ” McCree sputtered. “I ain’t _got_ wrinkles…” he said. If anyone saw the way he subtly checked himself out in the shiny metal surface to his left, they didn’t mention it. Genji just chuckled softly.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sombra continued with a playful grin, “what the people _did_ leave behind were their buildings. It had been built up a lot before the Crisis to cash in on the economic influx the omnium brought in. So there’s a lot of moss-covered factories and shit. Not much to look at, but it provided a lot of extra scrap they could use when they first started building the base.

Here’s the basic layout. I mean, as much as I can remember,” she said, gesturing to the rough model that floated in front of them. “I’ve only been able to get access to about ten floors. The rest? Well, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Guessin’ y’all ain’t runnin’ too many fire drills with a set-up like that…” McCree commented, leaning both elbows on the table as he sat. “Anythin’ happens down there, those people are stuck…”

“You’re catching on,” Sombra said, tapping the side of her nose. “See, the more dangerous experiments are completed down towards the bottom. That way if something _does_ go wrong, the rest of the base can close it off and keep it from getting to the surface. There are explosive charges rigged up in the bedrock around each individual level. If anything was isolated to one area in particular, they could blow it up, wait for the dust to settle, then someone from the upper level could drill down and connect back to the lower levels and keep on truckin.’ But I’m not really supposed to know about those.”

“I am sensing a pattern here,” Genji commented from the side.

“Leverage, ninja. _Leverage_ ,” she said, tapping her fingers against the table. “The more I know, the more dangerous I am.”

“Which is why you can imagine how _thrilled_ I am that you are coming along for this,” Winston grumbled, turning a screwdriver to loosen something deep within the bowels of the bomb on his table.

“Wow, and here I thought fat people were supposed to be _jolly_ …” Sombra said, examining her nails. Winston slapped down the screwdriver and glared at her, but was only held back by one of McCree’s hands and a pleading expression. The ape narrowed his eyes and set to grumbling under his breath, but picked up the tool and continued his work.

“Where’s Doomfist in all this?” McCree asked.

“Towards the top. Here,” she said, framing her fingers around a section on the third floor so that it zoomed in and rotated slowly. “The first two are dedicated to security and providing a decoy in case anyone roams too close. Doomy’s office is on the third floor. It’s where he takes calls from the League of Evil, too.”

“The…what?” Winston asked.

“It’s what I call the ‘big bosses,’” Sombra explained, making air quotes around the words.

“You mean Doomfist ain’t the big boss?”

“Dios mio, you guys need to really work on your intel,” she laughed mirthlessly. “No, he’s not. Just another cog in some big doomsday device.”

“Whatever,” McCree grunted. “I ain’t lookin’ to topple whole governments this time around. I’m just goin’ for Hanzo.”

“Cute,” Sombra rolled her eyes. “Well, your boy will _probably_ be up near the top too, unless he’s being worked on.”

McCree flinched at the term and glared at her. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Or a bit of both.

“Here’s the plan,” she started, zooming back out to look at the entire diagram.

“ _Finally,_ ” Winston grumbled.

“What part of ‘setting the mood’ do you guys not understand?” she asked, folding her arms. “I’m starting to wonder how you guys manage to give us so much trouble all the time.”

“Hey, ain’t nice to talk about your _team_ like that. You’re one of us now, remember?” McCree reminded her, raising a brow.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll lament upon my poor life choices _after_ we get back. Now will you all kindly shut up so I can dispense some of my brilliance?”

A collective grumble floated from all three of her male counterparts. She nodded and tossed her hair, running her fingers through it.

“To get past the monkeys out front – er, no offense,” she snickered, taking note of Winston’s death-glare, “we’ll need some sort of distraction. Trust me, these guys aren’t geniuses, but that’s not exactly to our benefit either. They’ll probably shoot at the first thing that looks funny. And a few Overwatch agents running to the hangar and climbing into a bird definitely fits that bill.”

“So we just make it so they can’t see us,” McCree leaned back with a smirk, propping his boots up on the table. “A few o’my flashbangs tossed out at the same time? Even a sunflower’d hide its eyes from that shit.”

“That last part made no sense but I like where your head is at,” Sombra said, snapping her fingers and pointing at him. “Me, ninja and vaquero here hightail it to the bird and your pilot gets us out under the cover of a well-timed lightshow. Then, once we’re in the air, I bypass our transport signal and bounce it like a fresh ping-pong ball until the idiotas are chasing ghosts from here to Antarctica. It’ll help with when we touch down near the base, too. Talon’s good, but I’m better.”

“And what am I supposed to tell them once they come back in here and demand answers?” Winston questioned.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she sighed. “Or better yet, don’t tell them anything. The longer you stall, the longer we have until we’ve got stupid anti-aircraft guns pointed at us as we fly over UN sanctioned military bases.”

“We ain’t lookin’ to get you or anyone else into trouble neither,” McCree said. “Just tell ‘em what you can to keep yourselves outta harm’s way. This is our show.”

“You and I _both_ know that isn’t what this is,” Winston sighed heavily. “But I’ll do my best.”

“Once we land near the base, you two gotta cover me while I make it to the main security panel. I can bypass the main precautions, reroute a lot of the power so that the cameras go offline, _and_ if things get desperate…maybe set off a few of those explosive charges I told you about.”

“You _ain’t_ blowin’ us up, Sombra,” McCree warned. “I don’t care how shitty this gets.”

“Just an idea!” she defended. “You never know when things might get too hairy down there. Plus, don’t forget there’s an army of omnics being stored _somewhere_ down in the lower levels. I’m thinking it _might_ just be a good idea to cut them off before they come spilling out like wasps.”

“That is a good point,” Genji offered. “It is always best to try and be proactive with situations like this.”

“Don’t encourage this behavior, Genj,” McCree grunted, though he was starting to agree.

“Explosion, no explosion, whatever – all that matters is I get to that panel. Once I do, you two infiltrate, I tell you where your boy is by looking through the surveillance feeds, you knock his ass out, drag him back up and we get gone before Doomy wakes up from his anger-fueled power nap. Then… _maybe_ I blow the place up on our way out.”

“Sombra…”

“What? It’s _strategic_.”

“And what about the Reaper? Or Widowmaker?” Genji asked.

“Pfft, the purple spider is pretty shit in close quarters like that. She does carry some stupid mines with her, but I doubt she’d pull those out of her ass unless she wanted to blow herself up too. So the most you’d have to worry about is that rifle of hers, and without the ability to hide on a roof somewhere, it’s pretty impossible to miss.”

“And Reaper?”

Sombra eyed McCree with a _look_ just then – something with a bit more hidden knowledge to it than he was comfortable with. The corners of her mouth tipped up ever so slightly, and the cowboy didn’t know whether to chuckle nervously or wriggle in his seat.

“Let’s just say you won’t really have to worry about him either. _Probably._ Now that he has his gauntlet, Doomfist will be the main threat. Oh, and the thousands and thousands of braindead idiots that live down there – let’s not forget them.”

“I’m…startin’ to like that explosion idea more an’ more…” McCree said, rubbing the back of his neck. Winston eyed him with a chastising expression, and the cowboy just smiled bashfully in return. 

“Told you,” Sombra preened. “It’s an excellent strategy.”

 “And where does this bomb come in to that ‘excellent strategy’?” Winston asked.

“Omnics aren’t exactly afraid of getting their hands dirty,” Sombra said. “Even if I _do_ blow the levels and seal them down there, they’ll probably dig their way out in a matter of hours, if not sooner. But, if I can rig your little baby here with a remote detonator? We wait for the fucks that didn’t get blasted away in the explosion to barrel their way up and then slam them with enough juice to fry their brains into scrambled eggs.”

“Wouldn’t they be fried eggs then?” McCree asked with a cheeky grin.

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“So just to recap,” Winston said, holding up both hands. “You three somehow manage to get Tracer out of the med bay without Angela asking questions, then you run across the Watchpoint smuggling a bomb, potentially _blind_ several soldiers in the process, violate a United Nations statute and fly down to New Zealand. Then you break into a top secret enemy base, rescue our brainwas- _er_ , _Hanzo_ , and then blow the place sky high, all while _hopefully_ not running into one of the most dangerous villains this organization has ever seen _and_ his army of robotic fighters. I get that right?”

All three looked at each other before shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, sounds about right,” Sombra said.

Winston jutted his jaw out sideways and looked at them all flatly. It had to be one of the most reckless plans he’d ever heard of. It was violent, dangerous, and entirely too risky, potentially jeopardizing two of his best agents, his only pilot _and_ getting them into deeper shit with the UN than they already were.

He glanced down at the bomb beneath his palms and let his spectacles trail down his nose.

Then, with another put-upon sigh, he closed the metallic covering and shoved it across the table until McCree put his hand up to stop it. Then he tossed a small plastic rectangle at Sombra, who fumbled to catch it but eventually settled.

“I figured you would need a remote detonator before you even mentioned it, so I fashioned one out of an old walkie-talkie. It works like a safe lock. Turn it to the appropriate numbers and then press down on the middle button to activate it. The sequence is 0-3-2-1.”

Genji huffed softly from the vents in his suit. “March 21st…the day you issued the Recall.”

“Aw, Winston, you ol’ sentimental so-an-so…” McCree snickered, leaning forward to playfully jab his shoulder.

“Just come back alive, okay?” Winston said softly, wringing his hands. “I’ve lost enough friends to this cause. I’d like to finally start _saving_ something for a change.”

“You can count on us, big guy,” McCree said.

“We will do our best, Winston,” Genji said with a polite bow. “We shall return with Hanzo and land a decisive blow to our enemies.”

“Yeah. What he said,” Sombra muttered, jabbing a thumb in Genji’s direction.

The scientist smiled as much as he could. “Athena, could you…tell Dr. Ziegler that I need her assistance in the lab? I, uh, singed some of my fur off again.”

**_“I sense no injury to your person, Winston.”_ **

“Just do it, please?”

**_“Oh. Oohh. Yes, right away.”_ **

Winston settled the three people in front of him with what he hoped was an encouraging look. Then, after standing up straight and rolling his back a bit, he offered a salute. One that he’d seen Jack give to his departing soldiers once upon a time.

“Good luck, agents. We’ll see you when you get back.”

“ _Dork,”_ Sombra chuckled.

Winston barely had enough time to sputter before the door had slid shut behind them.  

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take long, once she’d been brought up to speed, for Lena to enthusiastically rush off to prep the ship. Thanks to Winston’s prompt repair of her chronal accelerator, she could easily bypass the soldiers guarding the hangar, playing cards and tossing a ball around. It was only a few zips down the hall, a pause to linger at the corner.

But first, a quick pitstop. The storage closet near the opening at the beginning of the hallway had two men sitting in front of it, legs crossed and heavy guns across their chests. She’d have to get them away from there if she had any hope of getting Genji’s sword or McCree’s gun.

Oh, and Sombra’s stuff. If she had time. She didn’t really _trust_ her, or even really _like_ her, but…

If it was for Hanzo, she’d do it.

She really, really felt bad about conking them over the head. Or at least that’s what she told herself _after_ she lured them around the corner by flitting around them like a mosquito to get their attention. She had expected those helmets of theirs to do a better job. But she couldn’t complain too much now that she had an armful of weapons and the ship was just a hop, skip and jump away.

Okay, one obstacle down. Probably a million to go.  

After squeezing his ass into some black tactical gear, sans spurs, McCree met back up with Genji and Sombra. The hacker gave him a once-over and snickered under her breath, making the cowboy adjust his belt and grumble a little. Genji just patted his back comfortingly and led the group down the hall.

No one gave them a second glance beyond one of intrigue at Genji’s appearance or to check out Sombra’s ass. The hacker hadn’t seen it necessary to put anything else over her short shorts and tank top. She soaked up the attention like a sponge, winking at all the men and women who passed her and made eye contact.

They made it to the entrance to the hangar and halted when Genji raised a fist.

“There are six that I can see,” he said in as much of a whisper as he could manage. “They have taken the folding table from the common room and are playing cards.”

“Damn moochers,” McCree growled. “Get your own damn table.”

“I’ve got this,” Sombra said with a smirk.

“What?” they both asked in unison. But she was already gone, schmoozing her way up the table before they could stop her.

“Hey boys,” she purred. When two voices at the table cleared their throats, she blinked and grinned a little wider. “Oh, I’m sorry. And _girls.”_

“Can we help you, miss?” one of the women asked, setting her cards down to fold her arms.

“Oh, I was just hoping one of you could deal me in,” she said silkily, sliding into an empty chair. “Nothing to do around this hole, so I was looking for some fun.”

“We, uh, we were told not to really… _fraternize…”_ one of the men said, adjusting his hat.

“Oh come _on_. I won’t tell if you don’t,” she grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “I can even sweeten the pot. You guys like whiskey?” She pulled a bottle out from under the table and unscrewed the cap. McCree’s eyes widened – it was one of the unopened ones from his room.

“Do…do I even want to know where she was hiding that this whole time?” Genji asked.

“Probably not,” McCree said, pulling a face.

“We aren’t supposed to drink while on duty,” one of the other men said.

“Quit being lame, Parish. It’s one drink,” the one across the table said, unfolding his travel cup and sliding it out to Sombra. She whistled and poured a generous portion before wiggling her brows at his companions. Three others followed suit after a shrug. There were only two hold-outs: one of the frowning women and the one who brought up fraternization.

“Yeah, Parish,” Sombra cooed. “I thought you army guys were supposed to be _fun_.”

“Hey man, if I’m drinking, we’re _all_ drinking,” one of them said with a laugh, holding the cup out to them. “All for one and one for all, right Ferrera?”

“Just a _sip_ ,” the woman finally relented. “I haven’t had any in months…”

“Aw hell, hand it over,” the final man said, chugging straight from the bottle. Sombra laughed with the rest of them and gave McCree and Genji’s hiding spot the side eye.

“Game’s Poker,” one of the men said with a smirk in Sombra’s direction. “You know how to play?”

“I’m sure one of you can fill me in…” she said, tapping her feet on the floor. McCree raised an eyebrow and watched as her foot jerked in the direction of the Orca several times.

“C’mon,” McCree whispered. “She’s givin’ us the signal.”

“But they are all still-“

“H-oly shit,” McCree chuckled. “Look, Genj.”

One by one, the soldiers started leaning on each other. The two women against two men, and the one dealing the cards slumping down in his seat. Sombra stood and snagged the pile of money in the middle, the remnants of the whiskey bottle, and sauntered back over.

“See? Told you I had it covered.”

“You drugged ‘em? Not sure how I feel ‘bout that,” McCree asked, rapping his knuckles on the door of the aircraft. “An’ why the hell y’tell me to bring all these flashbangs?”

“Rohypnol. I keep some in my bra for special occasions. Sorry for spoiling your fun, vaquero,” she chuckled. “But you’ll probably need them anyway.” At his insistent stare, she threw up her hands. “I was bored! I scheme when I’m bored.”

“An’ how exactly did you get into my room?”

“Come on, luvs! Let’s get this show on the road!” Lena interrupted, hanging her head out the cockpit window. “Don’t have much time! Weather won’t be as nice in another hour or so!”

“We ain’t done with this conversation, missy,” McCree said, taking a step up.

“Ooh, so scary,” she huffed. Genji just chuckled himself and shook his head. But he couldn’t help but tilt his head to the side and eye her up and down, wondering where she kept her secret compartment as the ramp raised behind him.  

 

* * *

 

 

They touched down a little more than a day later. True to form, the only thing they had to worry about were sporadic groups of sheep as their landing gear turned to brace for the impact of their landing. The land was covered in a very thin layer of green that stretched all the way over the hillside and up into the mountains.

There were craters cut into the land – remnants of a bygone era filled with war and violence. An era that was threatening to come back any day now, with the culprits lying just under the surface.

A lone building was the only thing out of place.

It was a decrepit warehouse, for all intents and purposes, surrounded by dilapidated, moss-covered wreckage. A few thick bastion units were scrapped and thrown against boulders and cliffsides, consumed by the nature coming to reclaim its territory. McCree stepped out of the Orca and took a deep breath of the freshest air he’d breathed in years, untainted by smog or the fumes of humanity’s presence.

Under any other pretense, it would be beautiful. A perfect place for a holiday if you wanted to feel like you were at the edge of the universe.

“That’s the place,” Sombra said, pulling up her gloves and adjusting her clothing now that she was fully dressed. “Sheep kept setting off the motion sensors, so they got rid of them. So our footfalls should be fine until we get inside.”

Genji was already on the move. He had his katana and _wakizashi_ now and McCree could tell, even behind that repaired visor of his, that the ninja cyborg had razor-sharp focus on the building where his brother was.

Hanzo. The fact that they were almost sharing the same space again made the cowboy short of breath.

“Come on, cowpoke,” Sombra said, taking off running on fleet footsteps after the cyborg. McCree hoisted the bomb under his arm and set off after them.

“Oh! Okay! I’ll…eh…stay with the bird!” Lena called after them with a hand funneling her mouth, then waved, swaying her whole body with the motion. “Bring him home, luvs!”

McCree saw the cameras about ten feet out and made quick work of them, hoisting Peacekeeper up to lodge fat bullets into their lenses. They sparked and sputtered and hung by limp electrical cords. It drew attention from inside the frosted windows, three large, machine-gun toting grunts pushing the doors open. This time it was Genji’s turn, and with one quick swipe they were down for the count and lying in pools of blood, holding the heavy doors open with their corpses.

The cyborg wasn’t fucking around this time. McCree wasn’t either.

Four more were inside, watching surveillance screens. They turned robotically and raised their guns, but didn’t have time. Holes appeared between their eyes and they swung backwards with the backlash. McCree grinned in satisfaction, twirling Peacekeeper on his fingertip before holstering it again. The EMP gun he’d swiped from Numbani was heavy on his back – threw off his balance. He had to swing his shoulders a bit to compensate.

“Security panel is down the hall behind a vaulted door,” Sombra said, stepping on top of bodies and occasionally sliding ungracefully on slicks of gore. She pulled a face and kicked her boots off on the wall, leaving red stains against the cracked white paint.

“You can get in, right?”

“Oh please,” she laughed, pressing her hand to the panel. Purple vapors of light floated into the panel and made it glow. The soft buttons began to light up in tandem, and then suddenly the door was sliding upwards with a harsh metallic grind. The three men behind it could barely swivel in their chairs before Sombra had slammed a boot into their faces, leveling the other two with sharp, forceful fists. They barreled backwards and hit their heads against brushed metal countertops. Sombra didn’t skip a beat.

“I need ten minutes,” she said as she furiously typed, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration. “Watch the elevator down the hall and the stairway next to it. They are the only way to get up and down to the next level.”

“Got it, missy,” McCree said, tipping his hat. He set the bomb down _gently_ and adjusted himself. So far so good. Ten minutes. He could do ten minutes.

He could hear the gears of the elevator moving almost instantaneously. It figured – a top secret organization like that _would_ have the best alarm systems. The box was probably already packed with soldiers armed to the teeth ready to knock out the intruders that had so indelicately dispatched of their front guardsmen.

He took the split second he had to look around at his surroundings, feeling infinitely more comfortable with Genji at his side.

The windows out front were frosted, marred by bloody handprints now and black smudges of gunshot residue. The floor was poured concrete and the rooms were simply made, separated by glass partitions. He’d seen the large empty hangar they were attached to off to the left as they’d run in. Honestly, if they hadn’t _known_ that the men they’d run into were Talon, they could have just as easily shirked their guns and passed for mechanics. They weren’t wearing the usual tactical gear – instead they had tan coveralls and thick workmen’s gloves. It definitely hindered their movement, obviously, but it would definitely work as a passable decoy to the untrained eye.

“They are right beneath us,” Genji said, garnering his attention again. His katana was unsheathed. McCree removed Peacekeeper and brought it up to aim.

And then the doors opened.

And Doomfist was staring them right in the face.

McCree visibly flinched and met eyes with the hulking man, whose narrowed gaze slowly traveled over the dead at their feet, then over McCree, then up to his eyes. He managed a barely-there smile which only lasted a second. McCree took his own chance to examine him, eyeing the heavy golden gauntlet that was fitted to his fist. It clenched as if noticing his gaze.

“Ah, good. I was hoping I’d have to keep stalling,” came the voice from the security room. Sombra strode out with a triumphant smirk, striding up to pick up the bomb and toss it to Doomfist. “Here’s your bomb back, Boss.”

“Sombra, what the _fuck_ ,” McCree managed, his heart sinking. The look on her face and the way she twirled her hair around her fingers spoke volumes. Winston had been right. Winston had been right from the get-go.

“Good work,” Doomfist said, belying little emotion as he turned the bomb over once and handed it to an armed soldier at his side. McCree almost had a mind to blast them all…until he saw Hanzo slide out from the back of the elevator, his eyes trained on him. McCree felt the urge to crumple but locked his knees. He wouldn’t be able to get through this if just _seeing_ the man turned him to sludge.

“Sorry vaquero,” Sombra pouted, feigning a sigh. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Wasn’t going to get out of there unless I was a _little_ less than honest.”

“Fuckin’ bitch…” he growled, keeping Peacekeeper trained on the man in front of him.

“I’ve been called worse,” she smirked.

“I thought you said there would be _two_ with you,” Doomfist frowned deeply, folding his arms over his chest. McCree flicked his eyes to the side. Genji was gone – vanished like a puff of smoke. If he made it out of this alive, he’d have to ask him how he did that.

“No matter,” he continued, striding forward to allow the men at his back to file out and surround the cowboy. He was outnumbered and outgunned. With one last snarl in Sombra’s direction, he holstered Peacekeeper and held up both hands. “That is quite smart of you,” Doomfist complimented. “There _might_ be hope for you after all.”

“Ya’ll won’t get away with this,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Overwatch’ll notice when we haven’t come back. They’ll come here and-“

“And what? Destroy us? Beat us up? They’ve done an _excellent_ job of it so far,” the man laughed wholeheartedly. “You are obviously delusional. But that’s fine. It won’t take long to fix that problem like we have with our dear associate Dragon, here.”

He put a thick hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and the man did little to react beyond straightening his back. Sombra chuckled and leaned against the wall. He wanted to tear her goddamn face off.

“Get him downstairs,” Doomfist barked, making two men grab McCree at the arms and two more take away his weapons. “Reaper is waiting to…ask him a few questions. I would hate to keep him waiting. There is much to be done.”

“Sonnova _bitch_!” McCree growled, struggling as he was all-but lifted off his feet by the mindless brutes and hoisted into the elevator. He was not a small man by any means, but these guys, lacking in any real restraint thanks to the hold the others had on their minds, treated him like a ragdoll.

“We will see how uncooperative you are later, Mr. McCree,” Doomfist said, leaning forward to be eye-to-eye with him. “It is time to show the world that it doesn’t need a new Overwatch. Instead, it is time to be _tested_.”

McCree’s eyes lingered on Hanzo, soaking up any possible vision of him before the doors slowly shut. He thought he saw it - a flash of recognition. A softening of that prominent brow. Hanzo's brown eyes locked with his, and there was something _there._ Something that hadn't been there in Numbani.

"I ain't leavin' here without you, Hanzo!" he cried, once again trying to wrench his arms away. "I _love_ you!"

And then the doors were shut and he was sinking.

Down into the darkness. Down into the underbelly that was Talon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanna say i love all you guys. 
> 
> everyone who comments and leaves kudos and tells me they like my shit on twitter and tumblr just make my life so much brighter. and i definitely need that with everything that's going on these days. i'm sure everyone else does too. 
> 
> i'm always up for some idle chit-chat to serve as a distraction. if you guys wanna bug me or anything, just hit me up! <3
> 
> chapters will be a bit slower now that we're getting close to the end. just a heads up!


	27. Bring That Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a twitter where i post updates and chatter incessantly: @heysugarmaddy
> 
> and i have a tumblr where i do some of the same shit: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com
> 
> or buy me a ko-fi if you're feeling generous: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy
> 
> comments and kudos are always greatly, GREATLY appreciated. <3

It smelled sterile down there the further down they went. Acrid and astringent, like a hospital that had yet to see its first patient. It seeped in through the minute cracks of the elevator amidst the smell of sweat from McCree and his captors and made him feel even more nauseous than he already did. The look from Hanzo’s eyes had him even more shaken than the obvious betrayal at Sombra’s hands.

He continued to thrash in their grip even though he knew there was nowhere to go. He was surrounded on all sides by thick metal walls, with two doors in front and two doors behind. The Talon officers didn’t speak to each other. They didn’t even make eye contact. They just tightened up on him when he yanked away and dug the barrels of their guns more firmly into his side until he was sure it’d leave a bruise.

It only occurred to him as the doors were opening that he was walking the _exact_ same path Hanzo must have only weeks before. He’d been there, in that elevator, probably surging with energy to try and get away. Those steely brown eyes had looked around for possible exits, thought about how much force would need to be applied to snap the necks of the men around him. McCree was doing the same thing, shifting his gaze back and forth, up and down.

And yet, panic was starting to set in.

Somewhere down this path, Hanzo had run into something he _wasn’t_ able to fight. And that scared McCree more than the idea of bullets pumping into his hide.

The doors slid open and made an unassuming dinging sound as he was dragged out. The heels of his boots dragged into the concrete but did little to stop his approach to uncertain doom. They passed plain white doors and plain white walls down one winding corridor. It was deathly quiet; _too_ quiet for a place that supposedly held thousands and thousands of men and women, working away to drive the world to chaos.

But they’d only gone down two or three floors. If Sombra hadn’t been completely bullshitting about her description of the base, that meant experimentation wasn’t in his immediate future. Not yet, anyway.

There was…a _bit_ of comfort in that.

By the time they reached where they were meant to go, McCree was sweating from exertion beneath his gear. He was tense all over, yet his holders barely struggled to throw him into the plain white room after the door slid up.

It was small, barely larger than the storage closet back in Detroit, with no windows or doors beyond the one he was being forced through.

In the center sat a chair. A chair with straps on the arms and the legs.

“No way. No _fuckin’ way_ I’m gettin’ into-“

A quick and severe punch to McCree’s diaphragm cut off all semblance of thought or speech and he nearly spilled bile all over the floor. He coughed and gasped for breath, doubled over into himself, as he was thrown backwards and held down into the chair. He struggled and bit, fought and raged, but ultimately fell short thanks to the lack of air to his brain and to his lungs.

The straps were too tight, cutting the circulation to his flesh extremities. The one on his metal arm was reinforced with thick steel wire.

This chair had been customized for _him._

“Gutless sons of bitches…” he finally wheezed, using his bulk to test the weight of the chair. It was bolted to the floor. He knew before he tried, but it was worth a shot. “Can’t find fuckers to willingly fight for you, so you drag in poor saps and force ‘em to do your dirty work. Fuckin’ yellow-bellied pieces of-“

Another hard punch, this time to the cheek. McCree heard something crack. Probably a tooth. No great loss, he ultimately decided, but it still hurt like a bitch.

He spit blood on the floor when it pooled into his mouth and sat on his tongue. The man who had thrown the punches barely batted an eye. Or at least, he _probably_ didn’t. He was wearing one of those dumb masks that all the Talon goons wore. McCree tongued at his split lip and eyed the two agents as they stood and looked at each other, then moved out.

“Yeah, yeah fuckin’ run away!” McCree yelled at their backs. “Can’t fight someone unless they’re tied to a fuckin’ chair!” Reyes had always chastised him for his surplus of false bravado when he was under the gun. The way he saw it, if he was going to die or become some mindless husk of his former self, he didn’t have much to lose.

The door slid shut, barely leaving a seam in the wall where it touched down. In a sudden fit of frustration, the snarled and whipped back and forth in the chair in a tantrum.

“You’re going to pull a muscle if you keep that up.”

A voice like steel wool against brick oozed from the corner at McCree’s back. He immediately stilled and let his eyes follow the sound but not his head. He hadn’t seen him when he’d been led in. He was _sure_ he hadn’t been in the room before. Was there another entrance? Some hatch that was blended into the ground?

“Stop thinking about it,” Reaper said, sliding around into his vision. This close, McCree could smell a faint scent of death and decay amidst the smell of bleach. And…cigarette smoke? Parliaments. Even after all these years, McCree recognized the smell anywhere. There was something poetic about a ghoul smoking cigarettes, but it was probably just the blow to the head that had him noticing it.

Reaper appraised McCree for a second, tilting that owlish mask to the side. The cowboy got the distinct impression that he was being given the up and down even though he couldn’t see his eyes and sneered at the mask. He sucked up some of the blood and saliva that was settling in his mouth and spit it in his direction. It fell in a dull splat at the Reaper’s feet, if you could call them that, but the effect was there. Reaper just made a humming sound and pressed a palm to the wall.

A compartment beside his hand shifted and slid upwards, revealing a panel of buttons. The sharp, clawed fingers tapped away at them in a specified pattern – one McCree did his best to memorize.

A whirring noise above the door caught his attention. _Another_ , larger panel slid sideways, revealing a monitor of some kind. It was the width of the door and angled down to face McCree. He’d seen enough shitty brainwashing movies to know what this was, and kicked up his thrashing and cursing to a whole other level.

“We’re not at that part yet,” Reaper growled. “Knock it off.”

“Oh I bet you’d _like_ that, you creepy fuck,” McCree shot back. “I ain’t makin’ this easy on you, you goddamn-“

 _“He never_ does _shut up, does he.”_

It came from the screen above, and McCree was suddenly staring at the visage of Doomfist, sitting placidly behind some large mahogany desk. Widowmaker was lounging on the corner, her rifle across her lap like a poodle. She shook her head lightly and eyed McCree with distaste.

Hanzo was on the opposite corner on the floor, legs folded beneath him. His hands were in fists, resting on his thighs. If his soulless eyes weren’t trained to the screen, he would look like he was meditating.

This was a camera feed, not a nefarious device.

 _“Begin,_ ” Doomfist instructed, folding his fingers into a steeple. Reaper nodded and turned back to McCree. The cowboy curled his lip and braced himself.

“Who else is with you?” Reaper asked, drawing close. “We know you brought others.”

“Yeah? Good for you,” McCree immediately. It earned him a punch on the opposite cheek – one that snapped his head to the side and made him groan and hiss.

“Who else is with you,” Reaper asked again, wiping his clawed hand off on his robe.

“Oh…yeah, how could I forget…” McCree huffed, wrinkling his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was threatening to bleed. “Akande’s Mama is out back. Says she fixed the arm on his teddy bear so he can stop all this foolishness an’ belly-achin’.”

Claws dug into his scalp and yanked his head back. McCree winced and let out a yelp that he immediately kicked himself for making. It felt like knives digging into his forehead. Any movement just made them dig in harder. He forced his eyes open despite the pain and found himself unable to look away from the screen above him.

Doomfist held his usual, irritated scowl and Widowmaker hardly showed any emotion at all. Sombra…wasn’t present. He didn’t care.

He could only look at Hanzo.

“He was brave too, you know,” Reaper hissed into his ear. “Defiant and strong until the end. Cracked a few ribs and broke a few jaws. Sent quite a few men to the infirmary before we finally took him down. Sharp little tongue on him, too. And now look at him.”

He released Jesse’s head roughly and shoved him forward. He heaved in a breath and tried to ignore the stinging left behind from those sharp metal fingers. His chin tipped upwards as he heard the Reaper’s steps circle around and settle in front of him. Jesse’s eyes found their way to him against his will, staring into those empty sockets as he crouched down until they were eye level.

"You ever hear a dragon beg?"

The question hit Jesse like a sledgehammer, cold and unforgiving, but he held that black gaze as the monster chuckled and tapped its masked forehead with a clawed palm like it was remembering something important.

"Shit, what am I saying? Of course you have. You two have a little thing going, don't you? Or did, anyway."

He circled around the chair until he was practically in McCree's ear, the stench of decay flaking around him in wisps of black smoke. He grabbed the man's jaw until Jesse's eyes were locked with Hanzo's passive gaze, and somewhere in the back of his head he wondered in agony if he could even see or hear them at all.

"I'm willing to bet it was better with me, though," Reaper chuckled darkly, shaking his head, "No, no, there's no comparing the way a dragon sounds when he's begging for death by your hands. It's the kind of thing dreams are made of. It's enough to give you chills."

His jaw was let go and McCree sucked in a ragged breath and forced his eyes to the floor. Anywhere was better than those empty brown eyes, even the stark gray concrete with flecks of blood on it. He swallowed a sob, words completely failing him. Reaper just stayed at his back, out of sight. Jesse could feel him there, floating like a cobweb in the corner.

 _“Perhaps you two need a bit of ‘alone time’,”_ Doomfist offered, settling back with a smirk. _“You always did have a knack for making friends, Reaper. See if our new tenant has anything to say while the cameras are off and you two have…bonded.”_

Reaper grunted and Jesse could hear the rustle of his hood as he nodded. Knuckles cracked behind him. Did ghosts have knuckles? He had a feeling he was about to find out.

 _“I will check back in soon,”_ Doomfist finished. And the feed went black. The panel stayed open.

The room was quiet again.

The blood sliding down the back of his throat made it feel scratchy. He could feel his face swelling, but he could barely feel the pain above the deep, cold pang in his chest. When he saw the murky cloud of smoke against the floor ahead of him without lifting his eyes, he tensed his back and made his hands fists. This was it. In a few seconds, he’d be reduced to some bloody pulp by some asshole in a black bedsheet. Then he’d be questioned. And they’d do it again and again until they’d gotten all they wanted. Wrung him dry. Pretty standard torture protocol, if his Blackwatch training had taught him anything.

But after that...after that things would be different.

He didn’t want to think about that.

“Just get it over with,” he muttered angrily when he noticed the Reaper hesitating. “You know I ain’t gonna fuckin’ tell you anythin’, and I ain’t gonna stop until I’ve got Hanzo or I’m dead, so you might as well-“

“Shut up, McCree.”

The tone snapped his jaw shut and forced his head up to look. Reaper was still staring at him, arms folded, making absolutely _no_ move to strike at him or move from his spot. McCree was immediately angry, gritting his teeth and baring them at the villain in front of him.

The thing in the black cloak just…scoffed. Or at least it _sounded_ like a scoff.

Then a black tendril snaked its way from near his feet and upwards. It slid along the wall like a slug, probing and poking until it hit the seam in the wall where the compartment had opened near the screen. It slipped in, sucked into the space like smoke into a vent, and the lights began to flicker. An electrical noise sizzled through the walls.

Once, twice, three times the lights went out. Then everything settled.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here, McCree?”

The cowboy jerked back in his chair and couldn’t help but pull a face. He probably looked pretty comical – swollen eyes, busted lip, cowboy hat sitting on the floor near his feet with a _really_ fucking confused expression on his face.

“Is that…is that really your next question?” he asked slowly. “I mean, thought that woulda been obvious…”

“No, you _moron,”_ the wraith said with unveiled exasperation. “I mean what possessed your stupid cowboy ass to trek out here with _no_ back-up in the first place! And with _Genji_ for that matter!”

“Wh…what?” McCree could only manage as he watched Reaper pace back and forth in front of him. This was…the _weirdest_ interrogation process he’d ever been involved in. And he’d seen some doozies in his time. “How you know Genji was here?”

“After all the work I put in to take Talon’s focus _off_ of you, and you just keep throwing yourself in the mix. Didn’t I teach you _anything?_ Didn’t you learn?”

“H-hold on,” McCree said, a bit louder this time. “I’m…really confused. I mean, is this usually how y’all do this?  I’ve been outta the game for a while, so maybe it’s me but…is…is the punchin’ part comin’ up soon? Not like I’m _rushin’_ you or anythin’…”

Now it was Reaper’s time to look confused. Or at least that was the impression McCree got when he stopped and spun on him, his head tilted to the side. He sputtered a little and Jesse saw his head shake.

“ _Wait_ …you…you really don’t…?” he started, taking a step forward. He almost sounded amused in a pained way when he spoke again. “ _Really_ , Jesse?”

“Okay, now you’re freakin’ me out,” Jesse said hoarsely. “If you’re gonna fuck with me, at least do it _conventionally_ , ‘cuz this shit ain’t workin’-“

“I _weep_ for the future of Overwatch if they’ve got you in their ranks. I really do,” Reaper sighed. “I’m not sure how it’s even possible, but your head’s gotten thicker than I remember.”

“Who _are_ you?” McCree finally asked, lurching forward.

“I can’t believe I even have to do this,” he responded, a clawed hand lifting to grip his mask. “I haven’t exactly been _subtle_.”

“Take it off,” Jesse breathed, eyes wide. But he knew. He _knew._

The sarcasm. The cigarettes. The shotguns. The Blackwatch tactics and intimate details only _he_ would know. The nicknames. The word choices.

Whatever he had prepared himself for, it was nothing compared to what he saw behind that mask. Or _who._

The man behind the white mask was little more than a corpse. His skin was pale and paper-thin, stretched as tight as the head of a drum over high cheekbones. It moved and changed like water, as ethereal as the smoke at his feet, and the more Jesse focused, the more it looked like a mirage. One minute he could see opalescent, white teeth, the next they were covered. One minute he could make out the red hues of a bloodied eyeball, the next it was enveloped in a socket. Occasionally it would take on a _tinge_ of the mochaccino complexion he remembered, barely a shade of its former robust color, before it would fade and return to ash.  

His hair was longer than Jesse could remember it ever being. He couldn’t make out much of it from under the hood, but there were streaks of gray that belied his age. But it was still thick and curled, wrapping around his temples and draping above his cheeks.

For a dead guy, he didn’t look half bad.

“Gabe…” Jesse breathed on reflex, digging his heels into the floor in a futile effort to scoot away from the figure in front of him. “Gabriel fuckin’ Reyes.”

“The one and only,” he said, sounding almost bored. Without the mask over his lips, his voice was the genuine article. It hadn’t changed a bit from the one that barked orders into his earpiece, although it sounded a _little_ like he’d gargled metal shavings. “You look ridiculous, by the way.”

“Looked in a mirror lately?” McCree shot back, his voice cracking. He was crying without sobbing, big, fat, ugly tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t do that, ingrate,” Gabe huffed. “You know how I hate crying.”

 “What am I _s’posed_ to do?!” McCree yelled. “You’re _dead_! You’re fuckin’ _dead!”_

“Well, yes and no,” he grumbled, sounding as if he’d had to explain his state-of-affairs one too many times. “Isn’t quite that simple. You can ask your damn doctor about it if you get out of here.”

“No, no you can’t pull that shit, Reyes,” Jesse wailed. “You can’t just shelf this shit on me. Look where I am! Look where we are! I’m in a fuckin’ _evil basement_ talkin’ to a _zombie!_ The least you can do is take this shit seriously!”

Gabriel leveled him a flat look. “One, I’m _not_ a zombie. Watch it with that shit. And two, whose fault is it that you’re stuck to a chair in Doomfist’s base of operations? Like I said, I went through a _tremendous_ amount of effort to make sure you _didn’t_ end up here.”

“Horseshit!” McCree yelled, way past the point of caring about volume. “You tried to kill me in Detroit!”

“For the record, and not like it even _matters_ at this point, but no, I didn’t,” he sighed heavily. He slowly spread his robe and brought out his twin shotguns, holding one in each hand. “One with tranqs, one with live ammunition,” he said, gesturing first to the left one and then to the right. “The idea was to knock your ass out, claim I had to kill you in defense and hope Akande picked someone new. I didn’t expect your little _boyfriend_ to come running after you.”

“But…but you fuckin’ fought him!”

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked, raising the remnants of a dark eyebrow. “Let him kill me? Not like he _could_ , but…”

“You threatened him in Siberia! Said you would kill me if he told-“

“You couldn’t barge into what you didn’t know about,” Gabe answered monotonously. “I know how you get, cowboy. Even after all this time, you haven’t changed a bit. Still that scrawny little boy that sat across from me in the interrogation-“

“You took him,” McCree howled finally. “You fuckin’ _took him!_ You helped make him a _monster!_ An’…an’ _what._ You say that’s _helpin’_ me? Keepin’ me _safe?!”_

“…look,” he said, holstering the shotguns and holding up his clawed palms defensively. “We don’t have a lot of time here. And while I’d _love_ to sit here and explain why I did this and why I did that, it’s not exactly on our list of priorities right now. Just know that I did what I had to do to keep this operation I have going afloat. Sorry you got wrapped up in it. I tried to keep that from happening, but guess I didn’t factor _feelings_ into everything. Isn’t exactly the first time I’ve been guilty of that. But right now? We have to get you and Genji _out_ of here before this shit goes live.”

He had so many questions. _So_ many questions. Where had he been all this time? Why was he doing this? He was undercover – McCree could gather that much, but to what end? How did he survive the explosion at the Swiss Headquarters? What did Angela have to do with anything?

But he was in pain. Too much pain. His heart had whiplash, the knowledge that his trusted mentor was alive and kicking sending him up into the stratosphere while the knowledge that he’d kidnapped Hanzo pulled him down into hell. He was laughing hoarsely while tears slid down his cheeks. This was too much. It was just too much. He was too old for this shit. Too _tired_.

“…we?” he finally breathed amidst choked noises. “Y’said ‘we’. Is Ana kickin’ around here somewhere too? Jack? Gonna have a goddamn reunion now? I woulda dressed up.”

Gabe pulled a face but said nothing, shooting his patented disapproving face in Jesse’s direction. Instead of answering, he pressed two fingers to his ear.

“Sombra. How much longer?”

 _“Oh ye of little faith. I’ve got it,”_ McCree could barely hear in the quiet of the room. _“How’s vaquero?”_

“…he’s fine. Had to put on a little show but he’ll be fine.”

_“Mmhm, I’m sure. You’re always so caring and compassionate. Just don’t beat him up too bad, okay? He’s had a rough go of it for a while. You should have seen his face upstairs…poor baby.”_

“Just focus on tracking his shit down, okay?” he growled. “I’m gonna have to let up my hold on the security cameras in a minute.”

_“Gotcha, Boss. The second you let go, I piggyback in and open a few doors. Piece of cake.”_

“Watch yourself. If you run into issues, let me know.”

_“Yes, honey. Anything you say, honey.”_

He removed his fingers and drew his eyes back to Jesse. The man looked pale and was staring at him like he’d seen a ghost. It couldn’t be closer to the truth, but coming from someone he’d spent years training and molding into a soldier, it only succeeded in pissing him off.

“Pull yourself together, McCree. You’re better than this shit. If you want to get Shimada out of this alive, you’re gonna have to be.”

That did something, at least, and McCree straightened up and swallowed hard. When a little bit of color filled back in around the bruises, Gabe nodded in satisfaction and reached for his mask.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” he started. McCree pretended to not be jarred by the way his voice changed back into that monstrous tone once the mask was back in place. “…in a few seconds, I’m going to let the cameras come back online. You’re going to act like I beat the living shit out of you, and I’m going to leave. From there, Sombra is going to follow your movements from one of the camera rooms, unlock your shackles and lead you to your weapons. After that, you’re on your own.”

“Wait a second,” he growled, shaking his head. “Wait a goddamn second. You can’t just…just _do_ this. I need…I need a fuckin’ second to _think_.”

“You don’t have time,” he said simply, resisting the obvious sarcastic answer for once. “I told you that.”

“Sombra double-crossed us,” he continued, hardly listening. “She took the damn bomb and handed it to that asshole-“

“Who brought it _downstairs_ ,” Reaper finished. “With the rest of the dangerous experiments _and_ the bulk of the omnics Akande hasn’t mobilized yet. It wouldn’t have done much damage otherwise. She saved you a trip. She did what she had to do.”

McCree paid attention to his breathing. It was the only thing he could do. In and then out, in and then out. A panic attack was threatening to take hold of him. His muscles were burning and his head was spinning. Breathe, McCree. _Breathe._

Gabe was right. There was no time for this.

“If you hurry, you’ll catch Shimada outside by the hangar,” the Reaper continued. “Akande is preparing for the first attack while Overwatch is out of commission. Shimada is going to be leading it. You _need_ to catch them.”

“An’ you’re gonna…what. Shoot tranqs at me? Break my nose?” He fixed him with a defiant look. “We just supposed to act like this never happened?”

“Easy with the sass, ingrate. There’s a lot of this you don’t understand and I damn well intend to keep it that way,” he snapped, adjusting his gloves. Thoughtfully, he lifted his hood and hid his hair and neck from view. McCree was almost grateful that he couldn’t see that horrifying visage anymore. “As for the rest…well, there’s perks to being a half-dead mercenary with no real loyalties to anyone,” he chuckled. “If I disappear for a little while, people will have expected it.”

“What the hell _happened_ to you?” Jesse asked softly.

Reaper went quiet and looked away. The heaviness of the mood fell on Jesse’s shoulder like a cinderblock, and it didn’t get any better when the black holes of that mask turned back to his position. Then Reaper was kneeling in front of him, and a clawed hand was on his shoulder.

“I have a safehouse. In Dorado,” he said. “If you get out of this – if we _both_ get out of this, come find me there. I’ll have your answers then. They probably won’t be the ones you _want_ , but…they’ll be answers.”

“What’s in Dorado?” he asked dumbly.

“…a friend.”

Jesse laughed ruefully. “Death has friends?”

“Shut up, McCree.”

He stood slowly and readied himself. McCree took the hint and smeared a bit of blood on his mouth with his tongue, letting his hair drape over his face.

“You really in love with this one?” Reaper asked. Surprised, McCree could only nod.

“What’d I tell you about that, cowboy?” he scoffed loudly. “Thinking like that’s gonna get you killed.”

“That’s the thing, Gabe,” he said with a chuckle. “Think I finally figured it out. You told me…you told me that everyone is only gonna do what benefits them the most. Remember that? ‘It’s called survival.’ You said that too.”

“Yeah, I remember. What’s your point?”

“My point is,” McCree continued, rolling his wrists in the bonds. “what benefits me the most? It’s keepin’ him safe. Makin’ him happy. It ain’t just about me anymore. It’s about _us. That’s_ the survival I’m after. Everythin’ I do from here on out is about keepin’ _that_ alive, an’ if it means I might get killed because I think that way? Well…it’ll have been worth it.”

“…that is the corniest shit I’ve ever heard,” Reaper said, sounding disgusted. “How have you made it this far being so sentimental?”

“Well, I hear I’m a pretty good shot. And this handsome face don’t hurt neither,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. Reaper just made another grossed-out noise and lifted his hand. What looked like a wispy black cloud sucked out of the wall like a vacuum and absorbed back into the pieces that made up Reaper’s sleeve.

The lights went out. Once, twice, three times. Then everything settled.

“You feel inclined to talk _yet?_ Or do I need to rearrange your face some more, _”_ Reaper growled loudly, huffing his breath. McCree let out a low groan and let his head drop, hiding his face from the view of the camera should anyone be watching. Doomfist seemed to be too busy, because the screen didn’t pop back on.

“Fine,” Reaper muttered, feigning frustration. “Let’s see if sitting here in this room for a few days will loosen that tongue. If it _doesn’t_ …well, I’ll just come back and cut it out.”

“Fuck you,” McCree growled, glaring at him through his hair. He couldn’t resist winking, only for a second. To his credit, Reaper didn’t flinch. He just laughed haughtily and swept out of the room, the door sliding up behind him. And he was gone. _Gabe_ was gone.

And the room was quiet.

Until, according to plan, the bindings on his wrists and legs came free. And the door slid open.

Now or never. _I’m comin’, darlin’._

He grabbed his hat, launched from the chair, and was down the hall. _Wait for me._

* * *

 

The halls all looked the same, and he was thankful that no one was milling about. He assumed they were all either working downstairs or assisting with the mobilization of the omnic troops upstairs. He turned his eyes upwards to the ceiling. Sombra was watching him from wherever she was. He couldn’t hear her or see her, but anytime a door slid open and lid to a new corridor, he knew she was still there.

He had no idea how she was pulling this off, but hell, he wasn’t going to worry about it now. He was out of that room. He was getting further and further away from whatever awaited downstairs. If they were planning on messing with him, they were being really convoluted about it. So he had a fairly decent amount of confidence that, for once, he was being told the truth. It would have been a lot less complicated if they were lying.

Another right, then another left. McCree had long since deviated from the path he’d taken when they’d dragged him in, and now he was in completely unfamiliar territory. But still – white walls, white floors, blank doors and the smell of bleach.

He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and frowned. Still bleeding. He tongued his lip. That, fortunately, had stopped, though it still tasted coppery and acidic.

If he ever took Reaper up on his offer and made it to Dorado, he was going to punch that asshole square in his undead face.

He turned a corner when the door opened.

And a hand was on his shoulder.

The cowboy spun and got into fighting stance, fists raised and legs parted. He threw a punch without thinking about it. But it only hit air and stayed there, floating without a target.

Genji always did have quick reflexes.

“For fucks _sake_ , Genj,” McCree hissed, heaving a sigh of relief and leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. “How many times I need to tell you not to sneak up on me?”

“Clearly once more,” Genji chuckled, voice hushed. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah, I figured. Got locked in a room with Reaper. Guy hits like a freight train.”

“I know – I came to rescue you,” Genji said. He folded his arms, leaned back, and gave McCree a once-over. “But…you got out. So...good work?”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Genj,” McCree said sarcastically. “Come on, we gotta get out of here. You seen anything? Any sign of Hanzo?” he asked as he started moving again, following Sombra’s unmarked path. Genji padded quietly beside him, his footfalls almost silent compared to the cowboy’s heavy boots.

“I followed the stairwell as far down as I felt comfortable,” Genji said. “I saw no one go down, and the elevator only made one more trip downwards after you departed from it. So that leads me to believe Hanzo and the others are still near the surface.”

“They’re gettin’ ready to send him out,” McCree explained. “Along with a lot of omnics. Doom’s gonna start this war he’s been goin’ on about. His stupid test, with Hanzo bein’ the monkey he’s shootin’ into space.”

“How do you know that? Have you been upstairs?” Genji asked as they moved through a door and moved up a flight of stairs. The door at the other end was unlocked and McCree moved through without a hint of hesitation.

“It’s…a long story,” Jesse sidestepped. “We just gotta get up there before shit gets nasty.”

“They confiscated the bomb, Jesse,” Genji said sadly. “I _did_ see that. And they took your weapons – the EMP gun and Peacekeeper. What do you insist on doing without-“

A door unlocked and slid upwards midway down the hall right as they passed it. Inside, plain as day, were McCree’s revolver and the long EMP gun, sitting on a table. They had tags on them with small numbers - obviously waiting for processing and storage.

“-them.”

The cyborg took a step forward into the room and picked up the guns, handing them to Jesse, who just slung them on without a second thought.

“How did you do that?” Genji finally asked. “This door has no label on it. And it was _locked.”_

“Like I said, it’s a long, _long_ story. I’ll tell you about it over drinks later.”

“I don’t drink, Jesse,” Genji said, a suspicious tone to his voice.

“Yeah, but _I_ do. And I sure as shit am gonna need a few bottles after this mess.”

Genji didn’t press the issue as they went back to the stairwell and moved upwards, jumping several steps at a time. There was noise behind the door to the second floor, which they were quick to avoid. The door to the top floor gave them pause, and Genji took it upon himself to lean forward and look out a small crack to look for danger.

A few meandering Talon agents, along with more than a few men and women in lab coats were all making their way outside. Doomfist was nowhere in sight. Reaper, Widowmaker, Hanzo and Sombra were all absent, which was either a good sign or a really, _really_ bad one.

“You ready?” McCree whispered.

“Till death and beyond, remember?” Genji answered with a nod. He unsheathed his katana. McCree took out Peacekeeper and cocked it.

Time to bring that hell.

Genji slammed the door open and launched forward while McCree fanned the hammer of his gun. Machine gun fire was the immediate response, spraying wildly in his direction. He rolled, took cover behind a wall, and reloaded while Genji stayed in the fray.

The cyborg moved like water, ducking and curving out of the way of wild punches and reckless charges. He swiped his blade and it cut through bone like butter, spraying the walls with blood. White lab coats were stained. Black gear was shredded. Helmets were cracked and equipment sparked.

Those glass partitions weren’t so clear anymore.

McCree stood again and fired. One to the head. One to the neck. One to the eye. One to the temple. Two more shots – how many were left? A tall one was running from the corner. Three more from the other side. He prepped a flashbang, slamming it to the ground. Light erupted, screams and wails filled the air. But when eyes adjusted and the room quieted, McCree was surrounded by four; two unconscious, two dead. He silently thanked Sombra - if she had made him use them back at the Watchpoint, things would have been a whole hell of a lot worse. 

The elevator dinged at the other end of the hall.

“Time to go,” McCree said quickly, reloading and lining up Peacekeeper’s sights on the sliver of light between the doors. “Get out there, Genj. I’ll hold ‘em off for a minute.”

The cyborg nodded. He knew better than to argue and rushed from the front door. McCree heard the scuffle from outside already – Genji didn’t make it far without running into trouble. But he’d been in worse scraps than this. McCree watched the door.

Six bullets. Six bullets for six bodies. Line ‘em up to knock ‘em down.

The door opened and the men piled out – eight crammed into that confined space, all shoulder to shoulder with guns and thick black helmets.

But they didn’t stand a chance.

Six bullets.

Six bodies.

The two that were left didn’t feel any remorse for the ones that fell, nor did they value their own safety. They ran at McCree like men possessed, firing at him while he jumped and slid around the corner. The glass partition smashed above, raining shards down on him like snow. Reload again. Six bullets. Six bullets for _two_ bodies.

He liked those odds.

When one came around the corner for him, he kicked out his leg and let out a satisfied grunt when he toppled forward in surprise and landed on his gun. McCree jumped quickly to his feet and shot downwards into the back of his head. A quick flick of the wrist and a spin of Peacekeeper on his trigger finger and he downed the second before he could retaliate, sending him splaying backwards into the wall behind him.

The gunslinger kept his weapon raised as he moved with precise steps towards the door and pressed his back to the wall. He tilted just enough to look outside.

And there was Hanzo.

And there was Genji.

It was just like Numbani. Hanzo was leaping at him and charging forward into any bit of space he was allowed, dodging Genji’s katana while countering with his own. The clang of metal on metal rang through the air along with the hiss of Genji’s vents and the ripping of dirt and grass beneath Hanzo’s sharp feet. They were matched, flowing over each other with the finesse that only two brothers, trained together since birth, could have.

But Doomfist was running towards them with a small army at his back. And Widowmaker had her rifle raised.

There was no time.

“Genji, _move!”_

The cyborg snapped to look at the cowboy and immediately ducked and rolled away. Hanzo did the same, his fierce countenance following him…before landing on McCree.

Jesse held his breath. Then spoke.

“Hey, baby,” he exhaled. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

There was that glint of recognition again. That almost imperceptible change in those fierce brown eyes as they met with his own.

His archer.

His _Hanzo._

Gold and blue. Ginger and spring onions and summer thunderstorms.

He raised the EMP gun and pointed.

Then he pulled the trigger.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyyyy~
> 
> i wrote this chapter while listening to 'Revolution' by the Score: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/b99r48grKGI
> 
> that entire album Myths & Legends is GOLD. give it a listen. srsly. 
> 
> thanks for reading.


	28. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated. <3   
> you like it? let me know! you don't like it? tell me why! i wanna grow as a writer! 
> 
> thanks!

_Words were echoing through the world like shouts against cave walls. He was barely conscious now, floating up through layers of sleep, but he could hear them. Feel them. They reverberated through his bones. Lapped at his hair. Coaxed his eyes open to take in the place he’d built around himself._

**_‘I ain’t leavin’ here without you, Hanzo…!’_ **

_He sat up quickly. Too quickly. His head started spinning and he clutched it with both hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake. His mind was stuffed with cotton wool. He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and put pressure on the pain._

_But there wasn’t blackness behind his eyelids like there should have been._

_Amber eyes stared back at him. Frantic and imploring beneath the brim of a familiar Stetson and surrounded by unruly brown hair._

_He threw his hands away from his eyes and the vision was gone. He was again surrounded by cherry trees, frosted yellow light and the high walls of Shimada castle. The sun was in the same spot it always was. The petals were falling in the same way they always did. He was lying in the same cot he always woke up in._

_“Y’alright, hon?” McCree asked from his spot where he lounged against a wooden pillar. His face was unfocused. Fuzzy. Hanzo glared at it for a second before it sharpened back into clarity. He was smoking a cigarillo, but the end never seemed to ash. The smoke was billowing like a current through water. It was unnatural._

_“What did you say?”_

_“Asked if you were alright,” McCree said with a chuckle. For some reason, the normally welcome sound made Hanzo’s stomach turn._

_“No, before that,” Hanzo said gruffly, kicking the blankets away from his feet. “I heard you say something.”_

_McCree looked puzzled and the sky darkened in a flash. Hanzo looked up and took in the clouds – they hadn’t been there before. Now they dotted the sky and threatened to envelop it all._

_“I didn’t hear anythin’,” McCree said. He was going to try and put Hanzo to sleep soon. The archer could feel it. So he took a different approach. He was smart enough to know when to change tactics, and could assume that he’d tried before although he couldn’t remember. Open rebellion would end in another wipe of his thoughts and another shove into unconsciousness. He would need to remain inconspicuous. Compliant._

_For now._

_He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, standing to stretch and move into the last remnants of sun. The sky opened for him and bathed him in it, warming his skin._

_“It must have been my mistake,” he said with a smile. McCree was placated by the answer and smiled back, the sky brightened again. Hanzo pretended like he couldn’t see the twin spires of blue light that were barreling for them. He pretended like he couldn’t hear their roars. But they were close, and when they arrived, this would be over._

**_“I love you!”_ **

_There it was again – a resounding cry that bounced from the walls and drowned out the gentle hum of water that spilled from the fountain beneath the trees. Hanzo stood and jerked his head around, trying to locate the source of the sound. He knew who it was. Could see those eyes._

_The not-McCree flickered in and out of existence for just a moment before turning its entire attention to Hanzo. The archer stared it down and willed his muscles to stay rigid. He wasn’t going down this time._

_“Easy there, honeybee…” it drawled, stalking towards him. It took on his face again. It smelled like him. And by god, Hanzo wanted to collapse into those arms, snuggle into that warmth and stop thinking about what was so_ wrong _with it all. It had his flannel. It knew the names he liked to be called. Its voice took on the honeyed tone that was most effective in drawing Hanzo down into that comforting embrace._

_But it was wrong._

_“You aren’t him,” Hanzo said, softly at first. He felt his legs go numb as energy was dragged out of him by force. But he fought. He scraped and dragged and clawed against it, stepping back from the imposter that was taking on his love’s face._

_“You’ve been through a lot, I get that,” it said, holding up both hands. “But you’re talkin’ crazy, Han. You know me. Let’s just go relax a-“_

_“Shut up!” Hanzo roared, clasping his hands over his ears. Thunder echoed around them and the ground shook, the castle walls crumbling into ruin. The trees were going brown. The water was drying up in the fountain. And Hanzo backed up again until he was flush against the stone of the great building._

_His hand brushed something and he clasped it._

_Storm bow. It had appeared right when he’d needed it to._

_He nocked the arrow that was suddenly at his back and pointed it at him. At McCree._

_“Han, what’re you doin’?” it asked with a nervous laugh, holding its ground. “You…you really gonna shoot me? You really wanna do that, darlin’?”_

_Hanzo hesitated. In fact, everything hesitated. The destruction of the castle, the falling of the dead cherry petals. It all stopped in time along with Hanzo’s breathing. His determination faltered as Jesse’s voice was thrown at him like one of his flashbangs. The tip of the arrow was shaking along with his hands and his eyes began to blur with tears._

_“You don’t wanna shoot me, honey,” it cooed. Another step forward, hand reaching for the bow. “Don’t you wanna be with me? Stay here and be together?” Another step. And another. Hanzo had nowhere to go._

_“It’ll be perfect, I promise,” it continued, thick as molasses. “No more hurt. No pain. Just you an’ me, safe an’ sound. Don’t that sound good?”_

_It did. Oh, it did. And Hanzo barked out a sob and a hiccupped breath. He felt the head of the arrow drop. Just a little. Now it was pointed at the not-McCree’s heart._

_No more regrets for his past mistakes._

_No more missions and exhaustion._

_Just sunny weather and peace._

_The arrow dropped entirely then. Hanzo was close to throwing down the weapon and his will along with it._

_But then, just as his resolve was at its weakest, they were there. And the world was bathed in blue._

_The great beasts curled themselves around the falling remnants of the castle and bellowed into the sky. They slid down like water and curled around Hanzo, snapping at the figment that was McCree and keeping him at a distance. Hanzo watched them, his wet eyes reflecting the glittering cerulean at his feet. Their energy crackled into him, blew his hair up and around his face. The sky began to crack, and the earth fell away beneath him._

_‘The river flows beyond this place’ they told him. ‘Let us be your strength. Let yourself be free.’_

_He drew back the string._

**_“Hey baby…”_ **

_He straightened the arrow._

**_“I’m here…”_ **

_He let it fly._

**_“I’ve got you…”_ **

_And the world exploded into light._

* * *

 

 

The minute that Hanzo fell, McCree was gunning towards him. He was screaming – _god_ , he was screaming, even after McCree fell to his knees, scooped him up and held him to his chest. Every muscle was tense and convulsing, and Jesse had a hard time keeping him still as he thrashed. They had no medic. They had no supplies.

“Fuck,” McCree’s voice cracked. “ _Fuck_ , Hanzo, god, it’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay… _fuck._ Genji, Genji, fuckin’ _help me._ ” The desperation in his voice drew Genji to action, though neither of them really knew what to do. The cyborg looked at McCree, who was clutching Hanzo in panic. He was trying to whisper soft, calming words of encouragement in a shaky voice, hoping the archer would work his way through it. But Genji knew where this was heading. He’d seen enough men die to know the signs when he saw them. They needed help.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you have done?!” boomed a voice nearby. The cyborg was up and poised in front of his brother and the cowboy in an instant, sword pointed at Doomfist. The man’s face was red with rage, the veins in his throat swollen and exposed. Widowmaker was infinitely calmer, holding them in her sights. They kept their distance despite the larger man’s rage, the soldiers at his back refusing to move until their commander gave the order.

“The planning! The years of intense preparation, all dashed! Destroyed!” he bellowed, clenching his fists at them. “Do you know what we could have made? A stronger world! A world that could have fought its own battles! One that did not _need_ an Overwatch to protect it! And now all you’ve done is killed the greatest chance we had!”

“He _ain’t_ dead!” McCree cried, holding Hanzo closer. “He ain’t gonna die!”

“You are a fool!” Doomfist shouted. “Sentimental! _Weak!_ I will lead this revolution myself. I will bring humanity to its next phase _myself_. And you? You will die with the rest of the ones who did not rise up to meet the challenge.”

He slammed his gauntlet down into the ground and the earth buckled under his fist. A fissure opened and split deep down, ripping towards them like a freight train. Genji sprung forward while McCree rolled with Hanzo, lifting the now unconscious man into a fireman’s carry to run from the damage. Widowmaker skirted the blast and closed in on them while Genji took on Doomfist. The soldiers split up and circled around the two, refusing to fire lest they hit the latter.

McCree freed Peacekeeper from its holster and fired upon the nimble assassin as she gave chase. She dodged the shots effortlessly, but one managed to clip her visor and split into it with a loud crack. She yowled with pain and reared back, raising the barrel of her rifle up into the air. McCree thought fast – he lowered Hanzo to the ground as delicately as he could manage and then slammed his weight into his heels, sprinting at the sniper.

She barely had enough time to readjust her aim before she was clotheslined by a very angry and very desperate cowboy.

His weight knocked the air from her lungs and she sputtered to take in a breath while he pinned her with a foot to her chest.

“Your emotions…make you _vulnerable_ ,” she hissed between deep breaths, struggling to get her heels into the ground for leverage. “You have won _nothing_ today…only slowed…the inevitable.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope for your sake I don’t hit as hard when I’m bein’ emotional,” McCree quipped back, before slamming the butt of his gun into her head. A thud and she was out cold. He stood and thumbed his nose with a sniff, looking down at her with distaste. “Oops. Guess not.”

Hanzo had gone quiet save for a few groans when McCree came back to him. His brow was furrowed and everything was tense, sweat dripping from his temples. They had to get him back to the ship – McCree had _no_ idea how much longer he had. But Genji was surrounded by enemies and barely dodging hefty punches and quick footwork. Maybe if he could distract the big guy with a few shots, Genji _might_ be able to get away. Then they’d just have to run back to the Orca and-

And then the doors to the hangar were sliding open.

“Oh _fuck_ …” he breathed.

The omnic army was moving in steady rows towards them. Hundreds. _Thousands._ They weren’t frantic like last time, throwing themselves at imminent danger like a wave. These were in formation, their steps in perfect sync with their guns held high at their chests. And there were way more than McCree had anticipated.

Their bomb was underground. Where the _rest_ of them were. Just how fucking many _were_ there?

“Tracer! Come in, Tracer!” he yelled into his comm. “We need help here! I got Han, but _fuck_ …could use a little support!”

“It’s already here, cowboy!” came a voice from above. A familiar voice. Then a streak of blue and the harsh heat of rocket fire above his head. “Why wasn’t _I_ invited to this little shindig? Just worried I’d make you look bad again?”

Pharah launched a rocket into the omnics and doubled back when they flew into the air in chunks. McCree let out a huff of relieved laughter into the air. _Man_ was he glad to see her.

“How the hell you get here?” he called upwards with a hand cupping his mouth. She hovered beside him and shot out a few more rockets from her launcher, smiling behind her yellow visor.

“Called in a favor!” she yelled back. “A few _hundred_ favors, actually! Now quit asking questions and start shooting! We’re not here to do _all_ the work, you know!”

“’We’?” McCree yelled. Then, overcome with hope, “…is Mercy with you?”

“Back with the ship!” she answered. “Should be here soon, I promise!”

A rumble made them both turn just in time to see a crushing force ram its way through the omnics with the strength of a bus. Deep laughter followed it. _Reinhardt._ He crumbled the omnics like they were made of foil with a few heavy strokes of his hammer. They flew this way and that, crashing like bowling pins.

Pharah winked and flew forward and back into the fray. She zipped around the heads of the army, firing downwards to leave deadly craters in her wake.

But the mass of metal soldiers was still coming. And Genji needed help.

Doomfist’s gauntlet connected with the katana and launched the cyborg back in a sea of sparks until his feet pulled dirt up around them. The taller man rolled his neck and curled his lip, advancing on him as Genji continued to brace himself. The soldiers that had once surrounded them had quickly scattered like roaches to engage in the skirmish. Now the two were left alone to trade blows, circling each other like the trained fighters they were.

“You are fighting a losing battle, Sparrow,” Doomfist said. “I took you and your team down in Numbani with ease. Now I have an _army_.”

“You were bested by a pretty good punch, if I remember correctly,” Genji jabbed back. He let his head cock to the side in an expression of boyish mischievousness.  “Winston was quite proud of that one.”

Doomfist smirked arrogantly and cracked his knuckles. “Well, the _monkey_ isn’t here. Your luck has run out. Though I do give you and your friends credit for holding out this long. Perhaps I’ll find use for you once you are defeated. _After_ I’ve reclaimed your brother’s corpse.”

He continued to advance and Genji spread his feet, choking up on his katana’s hilt. Despite appearances, his energy was dwindling. Doomfist was a fierce opponent, and without the luxury of stealth, Genji was forced to rely heavily on speed and defense. A direct hit would be devastating and Doomfist knew it, barely giving him room to move. Now endurance was the name of the game, and Genji couldn’t hold out much longer.

Doomfist swung at him again and _barely_ glanced his gauntlet above the ninja’s head. But ducking down also left him open to his _other_ fist, which came from the opposite direction and caught him on the chin. Despite being unprotected, it still packed one hell of a hit, and Genji slid back with a grunt. He stuck his katana’s blade into the ground and used it to steady himself. Doomfist was advancing again.

But Genji’s focus was split by the steadily approaching sound of…footsteps? There was definitely someone running at them _fast_ with a long, loping gait. Doomfist was either too focused on Genji or didn’t care.

“Give it up, Sparrow. You are-“

_“Incoming!”_

It was the only warning he had before a fist as large as a wrecking ball nailed into his side and sent him careening off to land in a skid of grass and dirt. Genji stood straight and took a cautious hop away from the newcomer. But when the hatch to the side popped open and he saw a familiar shade of pink bubblegum, he couldn’t help but laugh.

This was definitely _not_ her mech that she was piloting, but D.Va was doing  it like a pro nonetheless. The thing was built like a tank on legs, the bulk of it shaped like a cube with turret guns balanced on its head. Two _gigantic_ metal fists protruded from the side, while two thick metal legs hopped up and down in excitement at landing the punch. No, this wasn’t a mech – this was _battle armor_ , and those were _D.Va’s_ legs jumping in excitement. When she pounded her fists together in the cockpit, the machine did the same.

There was only _one_ place in all the world a contraption like _that_ could come from.

“Moving metal box that can kill intruders!” guffawed a voice. Genji turned just in time to see Torbjorn plodding up beside him, a large wrench in one hand balanced over his shoulder while his claw clutched his prized rivet gun. He was beaming with pride at his new creation, and even while recovering from the fight, Genji felt the contagiousness of his smile.

“Since you _babies_ wouldn’t let me fix the one we’ve got, I figured I’d make my own! I _told_ you all I had a secret weapon in the works!”

“It is very impressive, Torbjorn,” Genji complimented. “Possibly your finest work yet, if I may be so bold.”

A giant metal finger pointed at him. “Don’t think this means I’m forgetting about my mech, Torbie!” D.Va called, puffing out her cheeks.

“Oh quit your bellyaching – you’ll get it back! Now get back out there! Can’t conclude a proper test after just one punch!”

Doomfist seemed to agree as he struggled to stand some distance off. He was scuffed and dirty, with a large gash on his head. He was wobbling and unsteady on his legs, but his determination was impressive. Even Torbjorn gave a mild golf-clap when he came to a stand.

“I will _not…_ be _beaten…_ by a _little girl!”_ he forced through gritted teeth, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A true warrior to the end, he got back into fighting stance…

…only to be launched into the air again by a fierce uppercut.

“Hey, jerk! Though I may be little, I am _fierce_!”

She didn’t let him hit the ground. As soon as gravity forced him down, a kick to the back would knock him back up again. Then a punch to the stomach. Wash, rinse, repeat.

_“That’s_ for Hanners!” D.Va hooted, chasing after the airborne villain. She jumped and met him in the air, interlocking her fingers to use both her fists to strike him into the dirt. “And _that’s_ for McCree!”

Finally, she grabbed one foot and hurled him over her head until he’d formed a hole in the shape of his figure. He couldn’t move even if he’d _wanted_ to, and would be damn lucky if he had any intact bones left. Those spectating cringed in unison and let out a collective groan of sympathy pain.

D.Va hopped back over to Torbjorn’s side, who was surveying the damage appraisingly, stroking his beard.

“…I’d say that was a successful test run, wouldn’t you say?”

Doomfist groaned loudly from the nice little hole she’d pummeled him into, and D.Va smiled smugly, letting the bubble she’d blown pop.

“Oooh yeah. I could _definitely_ get used to this thing.”

Genji just laughed breathlessly, his vents hissing.

“Well, mind helping the rest of us out?” Pharah suddenly asked, landing in front of them. “I’ll babysit the sleeping one. Helix will be here to take him into custody as soon as they get their heads out of their asses. But there’s _way_ too many of those omnics for even Reinhardt to put a dent into!”

D.Va gave a two-fingered salute, the giant mechanized arms following suit comically. Then she was off, those springy legs sprinting into the thick of things. Torbjorn took a moment to pull up his pants, but then was chasing after her, spraying rivets into the unlucky omnics that got in his way.

Genji shook his head and sheathed his sword just in time to catch the glowing orb that floated over his shoulder. Gently, he let it rest in the palm of his hand, an intense sense of well-being washing over him. Even if the orb hadn’t been there, he would have felt it anyway at the sight of his master, floating like a leaf on the breeze.

“Are you well, my pupil?” he asked, extending a hand. Genji leaned into it and pressed his forehead to his master’s. Pharah, feeling as though she was witnessing something incredibly intimate, turned her attention pointedly to the unconscious man lying in the hole at her feet.

“I am better now,” he sighed. “Oh, but this…this is not…Master, does it not trouble you to see the omnics…?”

Zenyatta held up a hand and patted Genji on the head.

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity,” he said, calm as ever. “Although I may share an appearance with the ones we fight, the two of us have about as much in common as man and statue. Through this struggle, we will maintain peace.”

“Yeah!” Lucio suddenly exclaimed, skating a circle around them to an infection rhythm he was pumping from his chest. “What he said! Now come on, you two! Bring the noise!”

“Yes, Genji. Let us ‘bring this noise,’” Zenyatta said.

“Wow, okay, we have _got_ to work on that,” Lucio said with a flat expression. He shook his head and grabbed their hands. “But _later!_ C’mon! We’ve got some tail to kick!”

“Idiots,” Pharah sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

Tracer brought the Orca around right in the nick of time, kicking up dust in the wake of its landing gear. Hanzo had started making noise and writhing again, and McCree was becoming more riddled with anxiety by the minute. He hadn’t left his side since taking down Widowmaker, who still laid a few feet away with Mei guarding her, and refused to let go of his hand despite omnics getting a little too close for comfort. He’d simply raise Peacemaker with one hand, fire the shot, then drop his gun back down to his side when he heard the telltale thump of metal crumpling. His eyes never left Hanzo’s flushed face.

Mercy floated down from the open hatch like the angel she resembled, her pure white uniform diminished into a simple silhouette as the sun warmed her back. She touched down delicately, Caduceus staff at the ready, and crouched beside her fallen comrades.

“Ang…Ang, you gotta help him,” McCree begged. “He keeps screamin’ somethin’ awful an’ he’s burnin’ up. I don’t…I don’t know what to do!”

“How long has he been like this?” she asked as calmly as she could, pressing her fingertips into his throat to check his pulse.

“He’s quieted down since the EMP blast, but…I dunno, a half hour? An hour?”

She pulled the black mask away from the bottom half of Hanzo’s face, and McCree sucked in a little gasp when he saw a newly formed scar marring his lips. Mercy didn’t seem affected, her face schooled into the serious demeanor of a focused doctor.

She clicked open the long staff in her hands, the compartments opening at its head, and watched with tentative satisfaction as the soft golden beams of healing energy began to soak into Hanzo’s body like water in a sponge. His brow softened and his eyes stopped frantically moving behind his eyelids, but he was still breathing like he’d run a marathon and showed no signs of waking.

“The staff can only do so much for something like this,” Mercy said. “I need to get him onto the ship to try and stabilize him. I have equipment in there that can monitor his functions until he can get to a proper hospital.”

“I ain’t leavin’ him, Ang,” McCree said, his voice as harsh and severe as a hammer’s blow to an anvil. Mercy ignored him for the moment, instead lifting her head.

“Tracer, better prep for an immediate evac. Get the stretcher down here.”

A wild tangle of brown hair popped out from the open window as a wide set of eyes blinked behind yellow goggles. She leaned herself out halfway and then covered her mouth with both hands upon seeing Hanzo, and then nodded profusely.

“Be out in a jiff! Hold on!”

“Ang, I _ain’t_ leavin’ him,” McCree said again, this time raising his voice just short of barking.

“There isn’t anything you can do for him now, McCree,” Mercy shot back. “Your team needs your help more than he does right now. The faster you take care of this, the faster we can get out of here and get him the treatment he needs.”

To say that Jesse was reluctant to move away and let Mercy work would be the understatement of the century. He gripped Hanzo’s hand in his own like a lifeline, even when she and Tracer slid the stretcher beneath him and then hoisted his limp body up the ramp. Only when they moved beyond his reach did he let the archer’s fingers slip from his, and even then, he lingered like a lost puppy to watch as they laid him down and Mercy began her emergency preparations.

“I’ll be back, honeybee. Hold out for me,” he breathed to himself as he spun Peacekeeper on his finger. After a few bounced steps backwards, he forced his shoulders to spin in the direction of the commotion and away from the open door of the Orca.

He couldn’t admit to himself that he might have killed Hanzo. He pushed the thought away with every bullet he fired and every new round he reloaded. He’d rescued him. He’d _rescued_ him.

The further away he got, the more omnics surrounded him, the more his frustration boiled into an unimpeded rage. He ignored the sting of pain in his eye that told him he was on the verge of losing his sight. He ignored the way the knuckles of his gloves tore open when he punched omnic after omnic in the faceplate, knocking them down like dominoes.

He didn’t kill Hanzo.

He _didn’t_ kill Hanzo.

_He didn’t kill Hanzo._

He didn’t hear himself shouting and snarling like a beast over the gun blasts and scraping of steel. He couldn’t hear Genji or Lucio calling to him from a distance with their concerned voices, or see the way D.Va watched him with pity on her face as she obliterated robotic assailants with her fists. He didn’t notice the way all three of their gazes were forced upwards all at once.

He didn’t smell the ozone and the sea salt.

He didn’t see the sky darkening above him, or see the blue light rippling like the reflection of water on glass all around him.

But he _did_ hear the roar. And he _did_ know the feeling that shook in his bones.

Time slowed to a halt as he spun on his heel, and the sound of his spurs echoed through the air as everything else fell away.

And then there they were.

Genji was the first to move, pushing his way through the omnic crowd to get to the cowboy as fast as possible. But as he got closer, he slowed to a trot. Then a walk. And then his legs failed him.

The dragons – _Hanzo’s_ dragons – were staring at Jesse McCree with eyes like the full moon. And he was staring back.

And they were waiting.

The two luminous serpents spiraled each other like the tails of kites as they cast their glow down on the cowboy. Although their faces held no expression, it was clear that they were…pensive. Speculating. Taking Jesse in as if contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Which they probably were – no one could be certain.

Amidst the fighting around him, Jesse removed his hat and raised his hand to the sky. A silent request. A gesture of goodwill.

Genji found his resolve again and forced his legs into action and called out to him as loudly as he could. You did _not_ request anything of a dragon.

But once again, he was halted mid-step.

The dragon had pressed its nose into Jesse’s palm, then moved, and the other followed suit. An acquiesce. A blessing. A _gift._

And as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and the pair belted out an ear-splitting roar that shook the very foundations of the hangar and its inhabitants. Like a field of tornado sirens, the sound cut through the air as the epitome of a call for vengeance. A momentary warning. _A battle cry._

They spilled over the land as a tidal wave, ferocious and unstoppable, blue light rolling over the flat green earth as gaping maws snapped and crushed and obliterated. Bare remnants of the omnic horde were all that was left behind as the energy split into the open doors of the hangar, rendering steel from artificial sinew and turning guns to dust.

Reinhardt quickly picked Lucio up under one arm and Torbjorn in the other and quickly charged as quickly as his heavy armor would allow to avoid the blast, D.Va following close behind. They hit the ground in a heap the second they were out of danger. Though it wasn’t clear if they were in any danger to begin with, judging by the suddenly serene expression on Jesse’s face as he watched the blue current carry away the last of the omnics.

Genji stepped beside McCree, at a loss for words while the dragons dissipated into a soft haze of shimmering air.

Where omnics once were, all that was left were a few spare piles of junk and melted blobs of heated steel. Claw marks and black lines of fiery embers had taken chunks out of the massive hangar doors.

“Looked like a river, didn’t it?” Jesse said softly, breaking the silence to drawl in a faraway tone. “Yeah…jus’ one long river.”

“Do I even want to know?” Genji asked after a moment.

“Don’t think I’d even do it justice, Genj. Maybe someday I’ll find the words but…I feel like he was here,” the cowboy said with unfocused eyes. With a deep breath, he shook his head to clear it and slapped his hat back onto his head. “I’ll tell you later, Genj. We gotta get back to the ship.”

“No, time out,” Lucio called, waving his hands around after disentangling himself from the metal pile that was Reinhardt. “Are we even gonna _talk_ about that?!”  

Jesse was already walking away. Genji was beside him.

“Woah, wait. We’re really not?” Lucio asked as D.Va started walking too. Then Torbjorn. Then Reinhardt. “Oh come _on._ It was a big dragon wave! A _big. Dragon. Waaaave!”_

“Oh grow up, Lucio,” D.Va said with a giggle, using a huge metal hand to pat his head. “You act like you’ve never seen _dragons_ before!”

“I haven’t!” he cried out in exasperation. “Well, I mean _technically_ in Detroit I did but that _doesn’t make it any less insane!”_

“Come on, lad!” Reinhardt called over his shoulder. “Keep up!”

Lucio sputtered and made a few flustered noises, but eventually blew a raspberry and ran a hand through his dreads. “I shoulda stuck to DJing…” he muttered before slowly skating after them.

  

* * *

 

 

The Helix dropship had already arrived by the time they had crossed the field and made it back. Doomfist, looking twice as miserable as usual, had had his gauntlet removed and his wrists bound behind his back. A few Helix operatives were going over mission statements with Pharah while a third loaded the tall man up, followed by a dirty and highly put-out looking Widowmaker.

McCree made a beeline for the Orca and quickly loped up the ramp, dropping his gun and falling to his knees to be at eye-level with Hanzo. The archer was still out completely, lying under a steady stream of golden light beamed from the Caduceus staff that Mercy had balanced above him.

She tossed Jesse a hopeful smile, but it seemed almost too-forced in the cowboy’s opinion. He only had a few seconds to look confused before Pharah was tapping him on the shoulder. She too had that same forced smile on her face. Jesse gave one last look to the sleeping Hanzo before he stood and followed her to the far corner of the ship.

“Tell your buddies thanks for me,” McCree said, shoving his thumbs into his belt loops. “Dunno how you convinced them to let the rest of the gang out, but I’m mighty appreciative. I’m sure Hanzo’ll be too, once he comes to.”

“Hey uh, don’t mention it,” she said awkwardly, suddenly taking great interest in the helmet she was carrying under her arm. McCree had known her long enough to pick up when she was skirting an issue.

“Why the long face, kiddo?” he asked, giving her a fake punch to the arm. “We did it.”

“Yeah…yeah, we did,” she agreed. “But uh…Jess…I gotta tell you something. And, you have to promise not to freak out.”

McCree was instantly suspicious, and his body language said so. He folded his arms and eyed her from under the brim of his hat.

“What.”

“…well…remember when I said I called in a few favors?”

“…yeah?”

“Well, the UN had a few terms of their own. See, um…we were allowed to leave if we promised to bring back all of the fugitives so they could be taken into custody.”

“…and?”

“ _All_ the fugitives, Jesse.” She cast her eyes over his shoulder and landed them squarely on the unconscious man lying on the box sofa.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” McCree growled under his breath, immediately crowding into her space. “No. He ain’t goin’. It wasn’t his fault, Fareeha! You ain’t haulin’ Hanzo in to throw his ass in jail for shit that was out of his control!”

“I know, Jess, I know,” she said, putting a hand on his chest to calm him. “And I’m going to do what I can. But until we figure something out, he’s going to be kept under surveillance, even at the hospital.”

“Tell me who to talk to,” McCree barked. “Tell me the name of the sonnovabitch whose door I have to kick in!”

Her eyes flicked back and forth to take stock of the faces that had turned their way thanks to his outburst. She chewed on her lower lip and patted his shoulder.

“It’s not that simple, Jess. But I’m _going_ to take care of it as much as I can. Just…rest. Take care of him. They can’t haul him off _anywhere_ while he’s in the hospital, so you have time, okay?”

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately interrupted.

“Mios dio, did I miss a party or _what?”_

Sombra came strolling up the ramp with her hands behind her head and a devious smile on her face. Her eyes flittered across everyone’s faces before landing on Jesse’s extremely sour expression, complete with cuts and bruises galore.

“Shit, when he said he put on a show, he really meant it, didn’t he? Or did you get those all from the can openers out there?”

“What’s she talking about?” Pharah asked, giving him the side-eye. McCree ignored the question and returned to Hanzo’s side, lifting his hand to press it to his lips.

“You part of the cavalry?” Sombra suddenly asked Pharah, who took a step back when she became aware of their close proximity. Sombra was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and without further ado, slid a small controller into Pharah’s hand.

“Might wanna take this, then. 0-3-2-1. Then press that little button in the middle. And you _might_ wanna do it quick. Who _knows_ what else might pop up outta that headquarters!”

Pharah pulled a face and looked down at the detonator, turning it over in her hand. “What is this for-?”

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get this show on the road!” she interrupted, rubbing her hands together to fall backwards into a folding chair near the rec area. “Vaquero’s little boy-toy isn’t going to heal himself. Niña, fly this bird!” she said, calling to Tracer by bending her head back.

Pharah took another look at the detonator and one last look to Jesse before nodding and striding down the ramp. It closed immediately after, enclosing the Overwatch team in relative darkness until the cabin lights came on. Genji had taken a crouched position on the back of the couch to be near his brother, Mercy continued to keep a close watch and keep her hand on his pulse, and the others kept their distance, casting worried looks their way. Zenyatta took his post beside Genji and kept an Orb of Harmony between them both, occasionally floating it to someone else when their expression became too dour.

McCree didn’t budge. Even when Sombra stuck her fingers in her ears. Even when she pulled a face and stuck out her tongue.

The boom from the ground jostled the cabin and everyone bounced a good two feet in the air. 

"Oof, sorry about that, luvs! Blimey, what a blast!" Tracer gasped from the cockpit.

Sombra just laughed heartily and slapped her leg once the turbulence faded. Lucio cocked a brow at her, eyeing her like she had ten heads.

“Yeah, one hell of a party. I'm gonna _like_ Overwatch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy~
> 
> i have a twitter where i post updates:   
> @heysugarmaddy
> 
> i have a tumblr where i kinda do the same thing:   
> sugarmaddy.tumblr.com
> 
> or buy me a ko-fi if you feel like it:   
> ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	29. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated. love you guys.

It took 3 days of flying before they found a hospital that would accept Hanzo, along with a nation that would provide them safe harbor. News traveled fast that the defunct Overwatch, now being portrayed as a vigilante organization, was also providing sanctuary to the perpetrator of the slew of murders across Europe and Asia. No one wanted the negative publicity. At best, they were allowed to land, refuel, and gather supplies at gunpoint before being forced to take the skies again. At worst, they were given a warning to vacate the airspace before they would be gunned down like dogs. UN jets never let them out of their sights, only backing off to let another team take over once the Orca crossed out of jurisdiction.

They contemplated returning back to Gibraltar. It was better than being up in the air and away from any chance of help, but Winston made it clear that they were at more of an advantage while they were on the move. The UN team that was stationed there was making his life absolutely _miserable_ , refusing any supply runs without a slew of useless paperwork. Getting any help for Hanzo would not necessarily be forthcoming.

Angela barely slept. She had to constantly replace the canisters in her staff to keep Hanzo out of harm’s way, but without proper medical supplies, all she could do was _maintain_ his condition, not make it better. Everyone on the aircraft was experiencing a serious case of cabin fever, but none had it worse than McCree.

By the fifth – or was it the sixth?- refusal, the cowboy had lost it. He’d grabbed the radio from Lena’s hand and yelled a breathless blue streak of swears into it before slamming it down.

Needless to say, they were no longer welcome in Finland’s airspace after that.

But that wasn’t the last time his temper had flared.

At the end of the second day, Angela had been going through the ritual of performing a routine physical on the unconscious man. Pulse rate, blood pressure, pupil dilation – the usual shebang. She was only going through the motions at this point – the staff kept him stable. But this time, she noticed a sudden uptick in his breathing. Not at all unusual, but still enough to get her to move, using dexterous fingers to slide down the zipper of his black tactical gear, unhook latches and separate Velcro.

She’d thought Jesse was sleeping, so she hardly noticed the eyes on her when she sucked in a breath and put a hand to her mouth.

Hanzo’s exposed chest was riddled with scars. Various sizes, various states of healing, but all inflicted with a sharp, clean tool. One she was familiar with. A scalpel. One along his collarbone, one along the edge of his tattoo, curled into an arch around the tail of the dragon and under the lightning bolt. She traced it with a wince, brushing over the puckered skin. These were _exploratory_ , not torturous, meant to search and learn, and probably done while Hanzo was unconscious. For some reason, it made things worse.

Her eyes flicked up when she heard more Velcro being ripped apart and felt Hanzo’s body jerk.

McCree was hunched over with a wild look in his eyes, working at the rest of Hanzo’s sleeve and tossing the gloves in a pile to the floor.

“Jesse?” she asked softly, unaccustomed to the sound of her own voice in the muggy quiet of the cabin. It stirred some of the others that were dozing nearby – Lucio lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on his chin, and Reinhardt let out a monstrous yawn, rubbing his eyes.

“Has to come off,” McCree breathed, unsnapping a clasp to throw the sword and sheath with the rest of the pile. “Han…these aren’t his clothes…he doesn’t look right. It has to come off.”

“Jesse…” Angela repeated, trying to put a hand on his. He jerked away and went back to feverishly removing bits of black from his fallen archer. He ripped a swatch of fabric from above his knees where his prosthetics met his flesh, then regrouped and shoved a hand into his pocket.

“Jesse, man, just calm down, okay?” Lucio offered, putting a hand on his back.

“Easy there, vaquero,” Sombra added, eyeing him with as much concern as she could muster. Which wasn’t really much.

“ _No,_ ” he snapped, scooting himself up to Hanzo’s head. His voice was coarse and cracked – on the verge of hysteria. Angela looked to the DJ helplessly as the cowboy fumbled with the blood-spattered golden ribbon he’d been hording at his hip. He struggled to remove the hair tie from the archer’s hair with shaky fingers and then replace it with the long golden cloth. He cursed in frustration when it slipped free, and Angela could see the tears forming in his eyes.

“Ah shit,” Sombra mumbled. “He’s lost it.”

“Shut _up,”_ Angela snapped, radiating anger.

“I’m gonna make it better, see?” McCree choked, finally tying a loose knot and standing to look hurriedly around the cabin. He snapped up Storm bow from where it leaned against the wall near Genji, along with the half-full quiver of arrows, deaf to the loud sniffles coming from Hana.

“Gonna put it all back to normal. All the pieces together like they used t’be. That way…that way when he wakes up...”

He put the bow in Hanzo’s slack hand and closed his fingers over it. He tried again when they refused to grip, and again when the bow fell to the floor. Slowly, he crouched beside him, picked up Storm bow, and laid it in Hanzo’s palm. This time when he closed his fingers over it, he held them closed with his own. And then he broke down. Broke down _hard._

His sobs were ragged and hard as he buried his face against Hanzo’s chest, his fingers trembling as they traced the same scars Angela’s had earlier. She wasted no time in moving closer to him, resting her cheek to the top of his head and rubbing his back in soothing circles. Lucio welcomed Hana by extending an arm to her, which she gladly accepted, shoving her red face into the crook of his neck to quietly cry.

“I am going to help him,” Angela said softly into Jesse’s hair. “I promise you. I _promise._ ”

“He can’t die,” McCree repeated like a mantra to no one in particular. “I just got him back. He _can’t die.”_

“He won’t,” Angela said with fierce determination, eyes narrowing when they found the entrance to the cockpit. She chewed on her lower lip and placed a kiss to the crown of Jesse’s head. “He _won’t.”_

Lena jumped when Angela was suddenly in her space, eyes jumping over the controls and skimming along the horizon.

“Something I can help you with, luv?” she asked with an uneasy smile. Angela plopped herself down into the copilot’s seat and slid on a headset, adjusting the microphone in front of her mouth.

“Put out a signal to these coordinates,” she said, leaving no room for argument. Lena blinked when Angela scribbled down a few numbers and held it out between two fingers for her. “And let me speak when they answer.”

With a furrowed brow, Lena leaned forward and punched in the designated numbers, letting her eyes jump to Angela for confirmation once she was finished.

They didn’t have to wait long. A few telltale beeps meant the signal had been received, and then a low buzzer indicated that the comm line was open. A male voice spoke in rushed German but was cut off quickly by an _equally_ rushed Angela, who spoke so fast she barely had time to breathe. Lena had a hard time keeping her eyes both on the doctor _and_ on the sky in front of her, flanked by two sharp black jets on either side.

Finally, after talking for what seemed like longer than she _ever_ had, Angela went quiet to wait for an answer. One pregnant pause later, and she got it. The heaviest sigh ever recorded, and then an audible click of the tongue.

_“…let me take a look at him,”_ the voice said in heavily accented English. 

Angela breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the back of the seat. She held the microphone close and laughed a thank-you, then looked to Lena and clapped a hand to her shoulder.

“Well, we have our heading,” she said with a smile. “I didn’t think he would do it, I really didn’t.”

“Mind filling me in here? I _am_ the pilot…” Lena said.

“Vienna,” Angela said, removing the headset. “We’re going to Vienna.”

“And who is in Vienna?” Lena asked, flipping a few switches until the navigation fluctuated. The aircraft slowly banked left, the two UN jets mimicking the motion after a moment of adjustment.

“One of the best neurosurgeons in the world, and a specialist in applied nanobiology like myself,” she answered, running her fingers through her hair. “…who just so happens to be my uncle.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo was pulled out of McCree’s grasp the second they were through the doors. Nurses, doctors, and all kinds of staff put themselves between he and the archer, loading him up onto a stretcher and rushing him off down to the ICU. Angela was greeted by a dour looking doctor in a long lab coat with his hands in his pockets as soon as she came into the lobby. The exchange was awkward – professional. Both had straight backs and quick responses.

“Jesse…?” It was Genji, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to rouse him from his stupor as he wanted Hanzo carted away. Jesse didn’t respond out loud, but tilted his head to let him know he was listening.

“It will be some time before we can see him,” the cyborg said with disappointment, perching onto a nearby waiting room chair – one of those ubiquitous wooden structures with teal, patterned upholstery. McCree all but fell into the one beside him, groaning when the cushion did little to relieve the stress in his lower back.

“Figures,” McCree grunted, his voice completely blown from his outburst. “All we been fuckin’ doin’ is waitin’.”

Genji tested the cushion by bouncing up and down in it a little, then began to drum his fingers against his thigh. McCree pretended not to notice how anxious and fidgety he was. He only acted that way when he was itching for information, and the cowboy was in _no_ mood to supply any of it. He simply tipped his Stetson forward over his eyes and kicked his legs out, ignoring the steady hiss of Genji’s vents.

“Lena take the rest of the gang back with her?” McCree asked, attempting a distraction.

“Ah, yes,” Genji said. “She will return in a few days after refueling. I believe Winston was also intent on a debriefing. My Master said he would return with her. He told me Winston wanted to swear him in as a new agent.”

“I’ll be damned,” McCree said noncommittally, biting at the inside of his cheek.

The conversation went stagnant again, and Genji went back to practically vibrating beside him. McCree could feel his pent-up curiosity practically leaking into his pores. Another distraction, then.

“So that fella Angie was talkin’ to. Guy’s her uncle? Never heard her talk about him before.”

Genji tilted his head musingly and eyed the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “She mentioned him to me once or twice when I was first in her care,” he said. “From what I can recall, he acted as her guardian and mentor after her parents were killed. I believe he even encouraged her start in the medical field. But her choice to join Overwatch was not a popular one, and they had quite a bad falling out.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I think this might be the first time they have seen each other since then.”

“No wonder they’re actin’ all funny,” McCree said. “Stiffer than a church picnic around here.”

“There is something to be said for the fact that she was willing to break her silence to get us here, though,” Genji said. “It must mean that she cares a great deal.”

McCree didn’t know what to say to that, so he chose to say nothing. This, of course, was the _wrong_ choice, because it just meant Genji was back to tapping his feet on the floor, playing with his ribbon, or any number of things that set Jesse’s teeth on edge.

Once he’d began strumming a loose string from the cushion of his chair like a banjo, Jesse relented. He sat up, tipped his hat back, and glared at Genji with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Go on, ask,” he growled, pulling a face. “Whatever it is, get it outta your system so I can get some peace and quiet.”

Genji didn’t even have the decency to feign ignorance. He whipped around to face him and dug his nails into the wooden armrest in his excitement.

“What _happened_ back at the base?” he asked, his voice a little _too_ loud. It got more than a few stares from the people around them, and Jesse just frowned a little harder. Genji was unperturbed. “I saw them take you and lock you in that room! How did you escape on your own? And what happened with Sombra? I left the second she handed over the bomb-“

“Okay, first off, slow down,” McCree said, attempting to muster up as much patience as he had left. It wasn’t often that Genji let his ‘little brother’ side show, but when he did, it was either damn cute or incredibly frustration. This was leaning towards the latter. But McCree had asked for it. It was only fair to tell him a little.

“Second, keep your damn voice down. You’re a damn ninja, remember? Ninjas are supposed to be quiet.”

“There is little to do here but wait, and I would much rather hear about your escape than wallow in concern over my brother,” Genji huffed. “From what I have seen, you could do with a little distraction yourself. So tell me what happened.”

“I had help, okay?” McCree said, slumping down in the chair.

“Help?” Genji asked incredulously. “Who would possibly want to help you in a Talon base?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jesse said flatly. Genji just stared at him.

“…I am a cyborg ninja who was brought back from the dead and who comes from a family that can confer with dragons,” he said, just as flatly. “Try me.”

Jesse had to admit, he had him there.

“…Gabe,” Jesse said, almost too quiet to hear. “It was Gabe, Genj.”

The Sparrow made a noise that was half between a snort and a laugh, his shoulders jerking backwards along with a tuck of his chin. But the look in McCree’s eyes halted any smart remark he was thinking about tossing out.

“I…I do not understand. Jesse, Gabriel is dead.”

“Told you ya wouldn’t believe me,” Jesse said, tipping his hat back down over his stormy eyes. He folded his arms, allowing Genji to try to process this new information.

“Was…was he a prisoner?” he asked suddenly. “Did we leave him there?”

“I’m sure the bastard’s fine,” McCree grumbled. “Probably out shoppin’ for some more black ponchos and skull masks while the rest of his crew is rottin’ in jail.”

Another one of those half-laughs and Genji was shaking his head. “You cannot possibly mean to say-“

“Damn straight I am,” McCree cut him off. “The ol’ sonnovabitch has been playing for the other team all these years, leavin’ our stupid hides to think he’s a corpse. I mean, _technically_ that’s still true, I guess.”

Genji looked back up at the lights, pondering. McCree was happy for the lapse in conversation, though now he was left with a whole _new_ buildup of stress in his system. What would the others say? How would Reinhardt, Angie, Torb or Pharah feel? They had a _funeral_ for fucks sake. They _cried._ Reinhardt even took an annual sabbatical to visit their graves and bring fresh flowers. It was just all kinds of fucked up.

“Some of this actually makes sense,” Genji finally said.

The cowboy slowly lifted his hat. “…come again?”

“Think about it, Jesse,” Genji said, folding his legs under himself and resting his palm on his knee. “The first encounter we had with Reaper was his infiltration of the Watchpoint. He knew exactly how to get in, where to go to attach to Athena and get into her records. Perhaps his reasoning for doing so was less malicious than we thought.”

“He was lookin’ for agent records,” McCree said. “He was lookin’ for us.”

“He would have played middleman to that information in any circumstance,” Genji pointed out. “And would have easily been able to alter it before it reached Talon. Anyone looking to _protect_ us would have seen it as a perfect opportunity to sabotage it from the inside. Do you not find it odd that no one came searching for us after he breached the base? Winston said _some_ information was taken, and yet still no one came.”

“I just chocked it up to shitty operatives,” the cowboy admitted. But Genji did have a point.

“He had all the chances in the world to attack us when we were searching the omniums,” Genji continued. “You saw the footage. He was within feet of us every time. And yet none of us sensed his presence.”

“Yeah, but I explained that,” McCree said. “He was fuckin’ with us. Fuckin’ with our heads.” Like someone from Blackwatch would have. But McCree didn’t have to bring that part up – they both knew it anyway.

“…he stopped Hanzo from killing me in Numbani.” Genji said suddenly, his voice full of awe as if having an epiphany. “He ordered him away right before the killing blow.”

They were both quiet, staring at the floor. There were so many questions – too many, if they had to admit it. Despite not being able to see his expression, McCree could almost see the way the younger Shimada was worrying his lower lip beneath his faceplate, and the way his eyes bored a hole into the floor.

“He uh…he wants me to meet up with him again,” McCree finally said, gaining Genji’s attention again. “Said he’s got a place in Dorado.”

Genji paused and McCree could tell he was blinking quickly behind his mask.

“Will you go?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” McCree said. “Could be a trap.”

“Why would he let you go only to spring a trap on you in Dorado?” Genji asked. “Seems a bit convoluted.”

“One of their head guys just tried to start a world war by makin’ a robotic army and lettin’ it loose on the unsuspecting public,” McCree drawled. “I reckon they _like_ convoluted plans.”

“I could go with you, if it would help,” Genji offered. “The invitation was not extended to me, but I have a few questions of my own.”

“Maybe,” McCree groused, tousling the hair under his hat with his fingertips. “Let’s just stick to one thing at a time. I ain’t goin’ nowhere until Hanzo’s back up and movin’. That’s the bare fuckin’ minimum.”

“I can understand that,” Genji relented. “Hanzo’s health is of the utmost priority.”

McCree tossed Genji the side-eye. 

“You’re awfully damn calm about all this, y’know,” McCree pointed out. “Even when I was up there losin’ my shit. You ain’t worried? Even a little?”

“Oh, of course I am worried,” Genji chuckled a little. “I am worried sick, in fact.”

“Then what?” McCree pressed. “How the hell you manage not to just…fall to pieces?”

The Sparrow turned his attention back to the floor, and for a second McCree wondered if he’d crossed a line. But the Genji he knew had very _few_ lines to be crossed, so his worries were dissuaded after he decided to clap Jesse on the shoulder good-naturedly.

“Jesse, let me tell you something,” he started, letting his head tilt to the side in one of those hidden smiles. “I have never, _ever_ found myself stunned into inaction. Not once. Made to pause, possibly, or reconsider, but never stop entirely. It has always been a trait that I have carried, and one that drove Hanzo out of his mind, even as children. If I set my mind to act, I will act. Nothing will halt me.

But that was before I saw those dragons come to you on that field. And believe me, Jesse, they came to _you._ There is no denying that. No one outside of the Shimada bloodline can boast such a claim. Furthermore, no one, and I mean _no one_ has _ever_ had a dragon _touch_ them. Pass through them, perhaps, and of course obliteration is always a risk, but Hanzo’s _touched_ you. That, my friend, made me stop.”

Genji tightened his grip on McCree’s shoulder and the cowboy could feel his grin.

“No one with that kind of blessing on their side is destined for tragedy, so I cannot find it within myself to let worry overtake me. Hanzo will be fine. _You_ will be fine.”

McCree couldn’t help but feel uplifted after that. He huffed out a laugh and shook his head slowly, but eventually met Genji’s eyes and squeezed his fingers with his own.

“Thanks, Genj.”

The cyborg nodded and let his hand slip free. Jesse stood and rifled through his pockets. He stopped and went rigid when he felt cool metal click under his fingertips. He inspected the zippo, ran his thumb over the dragon engraved on the surface, and looked back to Genji. The ninja just nodded again, looking like he knew exactly what Jesse was thinking.

The cigar lit up nicely after he stepped outside. When he exhaled the smoke from his nostrils and into the air, he swore he could feel the hot scales of a dragon beneath his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, he is going to be absolutely _miserable_ when he comes to, that much is certain,” Angela said, sipping primly from her coffee mug across the table from McCree and Genji. As always, she looked infinitely better than everyone else in the room, current company included. McCree was slumped over his own mug of bitter black liquid, looking just short of having been hit by a truck. Days with little to no sleep, buckled over in a shitty waiting room chair had him feeling like he’d be checking into the hospital himself soon enough. But she’d come with good news, so despite appearances, this was the best he’d felt in as long as he could remember.

“What does that mean?” Genji finally asked. “Is he recovering?”

“We think so, yes,” she said with a smile. “We ran a few tests and did a few scans, and despite everything, his prognosis is looking quite positive. Thanks to my uncle’s help, we were able to understand what was happening to him and undergo a course of treatment.”

“What was happenin’ to him?” McCree asked, trying to keep steady hands on his coffee. “And can we see him soon?”

“Well, the answer to your first question is why I mentioned that he’ll be miserable,” Angela said, setting down her cup. “It appears as though the nanites in his system were cutting off all signal from his brain to his nerve endings. When you administered the EMP, the nanites were disabled and his nerve endings all flared at once, resulting in quite a great deal of pain. Really, if it weren’t for the Caduceus staff, he might have gone into shock.”

“But…but he’s gonna be okay, right? He’s gonna be better?” Jesse asked hopefully.

“Well, from the appearances of things, he’s going to need physical therapy at the very least. The nanites were so hardwired into his system that a lot of his motor skills suffered once they were taken offline. It looks as though the rest of his brain is functioning normally, though. Speech, memory…once the nanites were shut off by the EMP, his mind more or less rebooted itself. Most likely in the form of a seizure when he fell.”

“How long do you expect him to remain unconscious, Doctor?” Genji asked.

“That remains to be seen,” she said, tapping her fingernails against the edge of the table. “We have him on pain medication and a steady regiment of fluids and vitamins, but he is breathing on his own, so really the rest is up to him.”

“Yeah, that’s all well an’ good, but can I _see_ him?” McCree ground out through gritted teeth, growing impatient.

“I don’t see why not. Though, Jesse…there are soldiers posted outside of his room. You’ll need to get clearance through them first.”

“Fuck _that_ ,” the cowboy hissed, standing so quickly he nearly knocked his chair backwards. “I’m fuckin’ seeing Hanzo.”

“ _Please_ try not to make things difficult,” Angela said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I had to _beg_ my uncle to let us come here. _Beg._ And even though he has invested a great deal of time in researching Hanzo’s condition, I can assure you he would have _no_ qualms with booting us right out the door in the event of a problem.”

He scowled harder than he’d ever scowled before, the look only accentuated by his untrimmed beard and the heavy bags under his eyes. Genji had to bite back a laugh.

“Let me come with you and speak with them. You can catch more flies with honey, you know.”

“Yeah?” he asked, following behind her sullenly. “A big fuckin’ _boot_ does the trick too, Angie.”

Genji finally let out that laugh he’d been holding back and shoved McCree’s coffee back into his hands.

“Come on, McCree,” he said. “The Doctor knows best.”

 

* * *

 

 

It took two hours of asinine bullshit before McCree and Genji were allowed in. The guards, two military boys with top of the line machine guns, eyed the pair suspiciously the whole way through the door, even _after_ confiscating their weapons. McCree was getting real sick and tired of his gun being taken from him, but if it meant he could see Hanzo, it was a small price to pay.

And there, alone in that big, dim hospital room, laid Hanzo.

He looked way too small amidst the plethora of blankets they’d layered him with. The hospital gown they’d dressed him in was too white and too stiff, appearing boxy over the gentle swell of his shoulders. Jesse inhaled sharply as he neared the bed, his fingers instinctively reaching out to tangle with Hanzo’s. He briefly noted that he’d been handcuffed to the rails on either side, and made a mental note to freak out about it later. Right now, there was only Hanzo. Hanzo Hanzo Hanzo.

“I have a few charts to go over,” Angela said. “I will leave you be. If you need anything, my commline is open.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Genji said with a bow. He was thanking her for more than just the simple courtesy and they all knew it. She just returned the bow with a graceful nod and headed out, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Just like when he first showed up,” McCree laughed ruefully. “All sick and handcuffed to a bed. Life’s fuckin’ _weird_ sometimes.”

“You would think that you would have understood that by now,” Genji replied, moving around the bed to crouch on the other side of it. “We are in Overwatch. Having a weird life comes naturally to us.”

“I reckon it does,” McCree agreed.

“He looks much better, though,” Genji pointed out. “And his beard is beginning to grow back.”

“Looks like his piercing closed up, though,” McCree sighed. “He’ll probably be pissed about that.”

“Only because he knew you liked it,” Genji mused. “I think he will be more upset that you lost so much sleep over him. Really, Jesse, you look like hell.”

“What’re you, my mother?” Jesse said with a hint of a smirk, but stood anyway and headed over to the couch. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out as far as he could, his head against one arm while his calves rested on the other. Not the most comfortable position, but he’d had worse.

“If I’m asleep when he wakes up, I’m kickin’ your ass.”

“Noted,” Genji sing-songed. “Good _night_ , McCree.”

But the cowboy didn’t answer. He was asleep before his hat finished slipping over his eyes.

Fortunately, or _unfortunately_ , Hanzo didn’t wake during that first night. Or the second. By the time the third rolled around, Genji had taken Angela up on her offer to spend the night in one of the emergency dormitories down the hall. It was reserved for nurses and doctors during overnight stays, but the cyborg was given special exception so long as a UN soldier remained posted outside the door. The Sparrow had just shrugged and left McCree with a wave. Having settled into his usual nightly routine, McCree mirrored the wave, flicked off the soldier, and waited until he’d shut the door before slipping off his clothes.

He didn’t take his place on the couch until he was in nothing but a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxers with little horseshoes on them. Angela had brought him new clothes to last a couple of days. _What a peach_ , he thought as he drifted off. Another quiet night spent on a shitty couch in a hospital.

His bladder woke him up a few hours later. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, stood on wobbly, sleep-ridden legs and tottered over to the bathroom, flooding the room with artificial light.

He hadn’t heard the rustling of fabric, nor had he caught the faint groan under the sound of the bathroom fan.

He checked himself out in the mirror before switching the light off. He was still bruised to hell, but the black eye was faint now. His lip was chapped but healed together. Not _great_ , but better. He’d need to shave soon. And he needed a haircut. He wondered if Lena kept a pair of clippers on the ship. He’d need to ask her when she came back.

The shadows of the room were…different when he stepped back into it. The gentle spray of moonlight he’d gotten so accustomed to was strewn across the hospital bed, but the shapes it cast weren’t the same. He blinked and let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and even rubbed them for good measure when it wasn’t happening quickly enough.

Amber met brown and McCree forgot how to breathe.

He had been sitting up and looking out the window when he’d walked in on him, his long black hair tangled and sleep-mussed along with the rest of him. The light from the window cast an ethereal glow to his skin, accentuating those high cheekbones, that proud nose, and the outline of those almond-shaped eyes as they widened to the size of dinnerplates.

Jesse took a step forward and heard handcuffs clanging against the metal bars. Hanzo was staring at him, pressed as far back as he could go, muscles straining. Jesse stopped walking immediately, hurt evident all over his features.

“…Han?” he finally asked, daring another step.

“Stop,” Hanzo croaked, his voice dry and unused. Jesse did as he was told, though he wanted to bay at the moon at the sound of Hanzo’s voice again. He had to move slow. Hanzo had that look of a spooked colt again.

“Hanzo…” McCree started calmly, holding up both hands. “Talk to me, sugar. It’s me. It’s-“

“Prove it,” Hanzo bit out, the handcuffs banging against the rails again. His nostrils were flaring like a proud stallion now, his jaw squared at the issue of the challenge. Jesse was just confused, letting his hands drop to his sides.

“Hanzo, baby…just relax now-“

“Shut _up!”_ Hanzo wailed, jerking backwards away from him. “I will _not_ relax!”

Jesse swallowed hard and watched him until he calmed down. It took Hanzo a second to settle, but once he saw that Jesse was making no move to come closer, he was satisfied to just stay as tense as possible. He kept his eyes on him in the dark like a mongoose eyeing a cobra.

“What do you want me to say, Hanzo?” McCree whispered, schooling himself. The archer bit down on his lip, seemed to contemplate his words, and then set his eyes back on him.

“Tell me how you lost your arm,” Hanzo ground out. “I could never know that. The real Jesse never told me.”

Jesse offered a confused smile. “Honey, I don’t get-“

“Just _tell_ me,” Hanzo said, downright begging. He was teetering on an edge now, emotion coloring his features. Jesse watched the transformation, saw the flush to his cheeks in the pale light, and let his shoulders slump.

“Snakebite,” he said, eyeing the prosthetic appraisingly. “Me an’ these two US Marshalls were headin’ out to catch a wanted man across state lines. Had a bounty on his head an’ I had a bit of a grudge. Well…we caught up with him, but there was a gunfight, an’…well, I fell into a rattlesnake pit. Marshall pulled me out, but couldn’t save the arm in time. A real mess. I was in a bad way.”

When he looked back up, Hanzo’s brow was furrowed into a look of honest-to-god confusion. McCree’s eyes flicked sideways, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“True Grit,” Hanzo finally said.

“Huh?” McCree responded dumbly.

“That…that is the plot from a western,” he extrapolated. “True Grit. I saw it when I was a boy. Genji loved John Wayne.”

“Aw hell, darlin’,” McCree said with a smile. “Genji told me. I was hopin’ you’d catch that. Just wanted to make you smile, is all.”

“…a joke?” Hanzo said softly, though the corners of his mouth were tipping up. “…at a time like this, you think to joke?”

“I think a time like this _is_ the perfect time to joke,” McCree grinned.

Hanzo was full-blown smiling now, his eyes filling with tears. McCree was instantly sputtering, unsure if he could move but unwilling to do it if Hanzo was still tense. The archer barked out a laugh and the tears started flowing. McCree could barely make them out as the light reflected off the trails they left.

“Only the real Jesse could come up with something so ridiculous to say,” he managed, choking back a sob. And then he was _really_ sobbing. Unabashedly bawling and drawing his legs up to his chest to bury his face into his knees.

McCree did move then. He couldn’t stay still if he tried.

Two steps was all it took to make it to the bed, and in an instant he was crawling onto the mattress. Hanzo felt his presence and parted his legs to make room for him, melting into the big arms that wrapped around him. His whole body _wracked_ with sobs as he muffled himself in Jesse’s shirt. This time when the handcuffs made noise, it was only because the archer was trying and failing to wrap his arms around the cowboy in turn.

“Aw hell,” McCree growled again, eyeing the metal bracelets in distaste. All it took was a well-placed slam with his metal prosthetic to have the things detached from the bed and clattering to the floor.

And there it was. That perfect fit. Hanzo wrapped his arms around McCree’s back as hard as he could, his nails digging into the flesh to leave little crescent moons. McCree _reveled_ in it, held back the happy crow that he wanted to let loose in favor of pressing kisses anywhere he could reach – eyelids, nose, ears, cheeks. Every part of his Hanzo was meant to be cherished. Every part of his Hanzo was safe and warm and _alive_.

“Sshh, I know, honeybee, I know,” McCree soothed, threading his fingers through his hair. He felt tears coming too, but bit them back. He’d done enough crying for the both. Now it was Hanzo’s turn, and he sure as hell deserved it.

“I thought I would die,” Hanzo said, nuzzling himself harder into McCree’s barrel of a chest. “And then I was there, in that place…it was a lie!”

“I know, Han, I know. Talon did it. Talon did it all. But you’re back, honey. I ain’t lettin’ you go again.”

“What did they do to me, Jesse?” Hanzo asked suddenly, leaning back to look up into his face. The cowboy stared back at him, unable to find an answer. Hanzo gripped his shirt. “What did they _do_ to me? What did I _do?_ ”

“Hanzo, y’gotta stop. You ain’t in any condition to-“

“Did I hurt Genji?” he asked quickly, his voice breaking again. “Did I hurt _you?”_

“…a little? But Genji’s fine, Han, I swear,” McCree said, struggling for a reply. When the archer began to shake, McCree put a hand on either side of his jaw and forced his eyes to meet his.

“Han, listen to me. You gotta listen. It wasn’t you, okay? It _wasn’t_ you,” he urged, smoothing down Hanzo’s hair. The archer searched his eyes and Jesse prepared himself for a bout of rage, but instead felt Hanzo crash his lips into his own with a ferocity he didn’t know the man had _in_ him just then. It was all desperation – clawing, incessant need that was so sudden and so strong that McCree forgot where they were.

He could taste the tears that had settled between their lips and the faint taste of blood – his or Hanzo’s, he couldn’t be sure. Hanzo was pressing up into him hard, his hand at the back of his neck to bring them as close as humanly possible. And god, it was _heaven._ Everything about it was like water rushing from a dam, filling them both with bone-deep relief that had their heads swimming by the time they pulled away. Hanzo had stopped crying by the end, staring up at Jesse while they both panted and came back down to earth.

Hanzo weakly clawed at McCree’s shoulders to bring him down to lie beside him and shoved his head under his chin. He was still frustratingly frail and it showed in the way the muscles of his arms trembled. Jesse was all-too-happy to get into position around him, forming a protective little cocoon with his arms and legs bracketing him on all sides.

“I do not want to fall asleep again,” Hanzo breathed. "I do not want to go."

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” McCree growled protectively, tightening his grip. “Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Promise me this is real...?” Hanzo asked softly, his voice already laden with drowsiness.

“I promise,” McCree said into his hair, leaning down to press his lips into his temple. “Ain’t nothin’ more real in the whole dang world.”

Hanzo went quiet beneath him then, and honestly McCree had never felt happier or more alive in his whole damn life. He was holding onto his own little piece of starlight, one that burned so bright into his goddamn shithole of a life that he scarcely believed it was real himself. He’d had to fight for it, pluck it from the sky, but now that he had it, oh man, he was never letting go.

“Jesse…?” Hanzo murmured sleepily, cracking open an eye in the dark. He started, having thought the man beneath him had dozed off again.

“Yeah, sugar?” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. “What is it, Han?”

 

 

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyy~
> 
> i have a twitter where i post updates and chatter incessantly about nothing: @heysugarmaddy  
> or a tumblr where i reblog mchanzo pictures and post updates too: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com  
> or buy me a ko-fi if you're feelin' generous: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy
> 
> thanks for reading.


	30. Three Simple Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. comments and kudos = regalos preciosos

When Hanzo awoke the next morning, he was altogether struck by how dreamless his sleep had been. It was beautiful, really, to fall asleep in the arms of someone you love and then have nothing to break that peace in the meantime. Jesse smelled like buttery leather and just the right amount of sweat – probably from being forced to share a bed that was just way too small. Hanzo tucked his face into his throat and breathed, taking note of the extra little bit of stubble that had taken up residence there.

He looked back a little to look at his face now that the light was better and felt an odd mix of emotions at the sight of that tanned skin. There was a darkened spot around his eye that was puffier than the rest, and bruising on his jaw and lip. His hair was longer too, taking on more of that curly wildness that it sometimes got when it was still damp. Hanzo brushed tentative fingers over all of it, every last bit, careful to be gentle lest he woke him.

It only made his mind wander back to its seemingly never-ending struggle to catch up. How long had he been…unlike himself? What had he done? Who had he done it to? Jesse was adamant that Genji was all right, but that still left a multitude of people that could have been potential… _victims._

When he began to knead his lower lip with his teeth, he noticed a change in texture and brought his hand up to feel. There was a dip there that hadn’t been there before. He traced it down along his chin until it ended in a sharp point, then repeated the action upwards. A scar. One that hadn’t been there before and yet was fully healed.

It must have been longer than he’d thought.

He tried to breathe through his nose to calm his heartrate, his hand fisting into Jesse’s t-shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together. It was the most his muscles would allow, but even that slight bit of distress had Jesse nuzzling further into his hair and holding him tighter to try and quell it. Hanzo didn’t relax, so eventually the cowboy stirred awake.

“Mmn…Han…?”

The archer didn’t answer, so Jesse balanced himself up on his elbow to look down at him.

“You okay?” he asked groggily, tucking Hanzo’s hair behind his ear. “Need me to get a nurse?”

“How long, Jesse?” he asked softly. He didn’t feel any of the hysterical vitriol that he’d had the night before, but the cowboy was still visibly alarmed by the subject. His eyebrows raised high enough to be buried into his hair before he shifted down to look into Hanzo’s eyes, resting his head against the pillow beside him.

“A few months,” Jesse said sullenly. Hanzo flinched and Jesse caught it, pressing his hand to his cheek. He didn’t speak beyond that, though. Just allowed Hanzo to work through his own train of thought.

“Will you tell me now?” Hanzo finally asked. “Will you finally tell me what I…”

“We got to you before you could do anythin’ to anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Jesse said with a heavy sigh. “That’s all y’need to worry about now.”

“That does not answer my question,” Hanzo growled, sitting up with a wince, clutching his ribs.

“Don’t move so fast, buttercup,” Jesse cooed, wrapping his arms around him. Hanzo wanted to pull away in frustration, but _oh_ , the feel of those arms had him melting back in against his will. Jesse rested his chin on Hanzo’s shoulder and watched him with careful consideration. Hanzo kept his eyes forward, clutching the blankets in his lap. The archer could already feel himself slipping down that self-deprecating spiral. The same one he’d gotten lost in after Genji.

He was a monster. A tool to be used to kill and nothing more. Even without knowing who he’d done it to, the idea that he’d been forced to mercilessly harm at the bid of others again made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Y’can’t start this way, Han,” McCree said softly. “It’s too much, too soon.”

“What other way is there to start?” Hanzo muttered.

“Well gettin’ some food in you might be a good place,” Jesse said, forcing the mood to stay light. “Some _real_ food an’ not some newfangled concoction they can pump into you.”

“I am not hungry,” Hanzo replied, his eyes moving away. Jesse made an exaggerated groan and let his forehead drop to the archer’s shoulder.

“Han, baby, light o’my life, you’re killin’ me,” he grumbled, shaking his head. When Hanzo was still quiet, he lifted his head and tilted it to get a better view of his face. Hanzo did not oblige, so Jesse pressed his palm to his jaw and turned him so their eyes met.

“Hanzo, I _know_ you wanna know,” he said, sighing. “An’ I’m gonna tell you, I _promise._ But you need _time._ I know how you get, and I ain’t losin’ you to anger an’ sadness, not after I just got you back.”

Hanzo began to tear up again and Jesse released his hold on his face when he pulled away. Hanzo could feel Jesse press his lips to his cheek and then trace a line down his jaw. He couldn’t help but smirk and tilt his head towards him at the tickle of his beard. The cowboy gave a satisfied smile in return, making sure that the archer felt it rather than saw it.

“All right, I’ll make you a deal,” he eventually relented. Hanzo wiped his eyes with trembling hands, but faced him again nonetheless. Jesse held up three fingers. “Three questions. Y’get three, every day, where you can ask me about what happened. But in return, you gotta do stuff for me.”

“Stuff?” Hanzo asked, frowning.

“Like _eat_ ,” McCree said. “Or watch a movie with me. Or play a game. Hell, even just talkin’. Like I said, I ain’t losin’ you to some of those thoughts I know are rockin’ around up there. You got a head like a haunted house, Han. I told you it wasn’t you that did it-“ and Hanzo opened his mouth to reply but McCree kept right on talking, already guessing his response, “- but I know I can repeat it ‘till I’m blue in the face an’ you still won’t believe me. All I can do now is make sure you take care of yourself. Hopefully if I do _that_ then you’ll get that you ain’t alone in all this.”

Hanzo didn’t really know how to feel just then. His immediate instinct was to feel insulted – he wasn’t some child that needed placating to prevent a tantrum. But he couldn’t hold onto that sentiment for long, not when Jesse was smiling hopefully at him and pressing kisses to his shoulder and neck. There was more than a little bit of truth to his words – Hanzo knew, if given the opportunity, he would cut himself off from the outside world to get drunk on his own darkness. And Jesse, the sweet, supportive man that he was, knew him better than he knew himself.

“That…would be…sufficient,” Hanzo said hesitantly, fighting back a smile when McCree beamed.

“Good. That’s real good, Han,” he murmured, pulling him forward until their foreheads touched. “See? I’m not lettin’ you go it alone.”

“We are on the same train,” Hanzo said, finally letting the smile spill forth when Jesse’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah,” he said happily, placing a kiss to his nose. He then wiggled his eyebrows. “The Overwatch _Love_ Express.”

“Ridiculous man,” Hanzo scoffed, pushing him away weakly with a hand to his chest.

“On that we both agree,” a voice from the door said. They both turned when Genji entered and Hanzo’s smile fell away. McCree moved slightly away, as if guilty, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I believe someone said something about kicking asses if the other did not awaken them when Hanzo did?” Genji said playfully, jutting out a hip. “I suppose this means I owe you a beating, McCree.”

“Genji…” Hanzo murmured, doing his best to straighten his blankets and adjust his hair. As if he needed to look good for his brother, who just watched him do it with amusement. Hanzo swallowed hard, adjusted his seating, and turned to him to bend into a shallow bow. Genji tilted his head at him, confusion evident even if his face wasn’t. Hanzo kept his face to the floor, refusing to look at him.

“Brother, I…I do not know what may have transpired while I was…“ he sucked in a deep breath as he tried to find the right words, but eventually gave up and ploughed through anyway. “…whatever it may have been, please believe that I will fight to regain my honor in your eyes and-“

But Genji just pulled him up and into a hug and Hanzo shut his mouth in shock. He could hear Jesse snicker over his shoulder, but eventually found enough braincells to reciprocate, lightly pressing his fingertips into the cyborg’s back.

“ _Shut up, Hanzo,”_ he muttered in Japanese. _“There is a time for apologies and a time to simply shut up and give your goddamn brother a fucking hug.”_

Hanzo huffed loudly, and after a moment’s hesitation, let Genji said upright again. The Sparrow placed a hand on his shoulder and everyone in the room could tell he was smiling. From this close, Hanzo could even hear some sniffles behind the mask. He brought a hand to cover Genji’s, and was altogether unsurprised when his little brother yanked him into a hug again. He ignored the pain of his scarred skin tugging against the hospital gown. Some things were more important.

_“You have an awfully foul mouth for a trained ninja who has found enlightenment with monks,”_ Hanzo commented.

_“I’m 35 years old, ass,”_ he said despite the wobbly tone of his voice. “And _McCree was also one of the first teammates I had when I joined Blackwatch_.”

_“Point taken,”_ Hanzo said as Genji leaned back up for the second time. McCree pouted and leaned forward a little from his seat at the edge of the bed.

“I heard my name in there,” he grumped.

“I was simply telling Hanzo how you haven’t left his side since we arrived,” Genji lied. “He’s been spread out on that couch like a vagrant for days.”

“You make it sound like I didn’t bathe or nothin’,” McCree frowned. Though he did give his shirt a sniff in a not-so-subtle way the moment Genji looked away.

“Why are there men with guns outside?” Hanzo suddenly asked, his eyes on the small window in the sliding door. Indeed, the UN soldiers were still there, at their posts, chatting quietly with one another. The archer’s eyes then slid to the ground where the remnants of the broken handcuffs were. Genji followed his eyes and then turned his attention to McCree, not sure what to even say.

“It’s a long story, Han. If y’want me to go through the whole thing right now, it counts as one of your questions for the day,” Jesse raised a brow.

“No need,” Hanzo replied, his voice lower. “I believe I can assume what it means.”

There was a moment of quiet while Genji and McCree silently exchanged looks. McCree was about to speak when there was commotion outside the door. A cursory glance through the small window showed a shock of brown hair, a flash of purple, and some brown dreadlocks before Hana’s face filled up the entire thing with a giddy smile.

“He’s up! He’s up, he’s up!” she said through the glass to the others. After another moment, the door slid open and Hana rushed forward to practically tackle Hanzo. The archer grunted loudly and pulled a face.

“Oh gosh, Hanners, I’m sorry! I just…oh man, I’m just so glad you’re _awake_! We all missed you so much, you have _no_ idea.”

“I think I might,” Hanzo let out a pained chuckle, cracking an eye open as he pressed a hand to his ribs.

“We are all immensely glad to see you, Agent Shimada,” Winston reiterated, adjusting his glasses. “I just wish it were under better circumstances. And in a happier place.” He shuddered a bit, eyeing the surroundings. Jesse knew by now that proper hospitals gave him the creeps.

The rest of the others filed in with broad smiles on their faces. Each gave their own versions of greeting and happy relief, and Hanzo was awkwardly accepting them, more-or-less. Torbjorn nodded stoically before breaking into a grin, Reinhardt resisted the urge to slap him on the back but boomed out a laugh regardless. Lena flitted around the bed excitedly like a hummingbird. Zenyatta’s presence was even more welcome than usual, the omnic bowing his head lightly and making light conversation. Surprisingly, Hanzo felt at ease with all of it. Well, as ‘at ease’ as Hanzo Shimada could get.

 That is, until he saw Sombra at the end of the pack.  

“Hiya,” she said with a Cheshire smile, rolling her fingers in a lazy wave. Hanzo didn’t answer, just narrowed his eyes at her like an angry cat and instinctively felt around his back for his bow. Sombra just rolled her eyes and threw a look over to Jesse. When the cowboy blinked at her obliviously, she popped her hip to the side and waved a hand at the man in the bed.

“You mind calling off your man, vaquero? He’s gonna bust a stitch.”

“Er, Han, easy. She’s with us,” Jesse finally said, patting his shoulder.

“…pardon?” Hanzo asked, letting both hands fall to the blankets.

“Like I said,” McCree said under his breath. “It’s a…long story.”

“ _Agent_ Sombra, at your service,” she cooed, extending her ID tag like a badge of honor. “No hard feelings for you know… _this._ ” She gestured to all of him, and Hanzo scowled. The hacker just grinned even harder and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Sorry we’re late, luvs,” Lena said, leaning against the bed with her chin in her hands. “ _Someone_ was held up in her room.” Everyone turned to glance at Sombra pointedly.

“Can’t a girl take some time to get ready in the morning?” she asked. “I had some _business_ to attend to.”

“What kind of business could you possibly have at five in the morning?” Winston asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, chief,” she smirked, tapping her nose with an elegant finger. “Privado.”

“Of course it is,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Though I’m sure it has something to do with all of the equipment that’s gone missing from my lab? And that loud cackling you were doing at midnight?”  

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about,” she said, sticking her pinky into her ear and twisting it with a nonchalant expression. “Want me to help with Athena’s security on base? I’d just _love_ to get a look at it.”

“Hard pass, thanks,” Winston grunted.

“How you feeling, man?” Lucio asked, drawing the attention away from the subject at hand. “I’ve got some new beats that can help you out if the docs aren’t giving you enough of the good stuff.”

“I am sure that will not be necessary,” Hanzo said. “I have yet to meet my attending physician, but so far I am feeling as well as can be expected.”

“I’m sure Angie’ll be around soon. Probably got more tests to run,” Jesse said with a shrug. Hanzo’s head whipped around quickly to stare at him, thinly veiled anger boiling beneath the surface of his skin.

“ _Agent Ziegler_ is my physician?” he asked heatedly.

“I am,” came the tired-sounding voice from the door. Just like Genji, the doctor could move silently when she aimed to, even in the clunky medical-grade clogs she sported. She had a medical chart hugged closely to her chest and a mug of coffee in the other. The group of visitors parted like the Red Sea at her approach, allowing her to take a seat on the chair beside the bed. Once she had placed her mug down, she forced a polite smile to the group.

“I hate to ask this of you, as I’m sure you’ve all had a long flight, but would you mind if I spoke to Hanzo alone for a few moments?”

There was some awkward shuffling and a few glances back and forth, but eventually they all began moving towards the door.

“The prosthetics stay _here_ , Torbjorn,” she added flatly, which resulted in a loud clunking sound and an angry grumble.

Jesse and Hanzo exchanged glances, but at Hanzo’s calm nod, Jesse followed the rest out to the hallway. Hanzo watched them depart until the door slowly closed and the two were left to bask in uncomfortable silence.

Angela was the first to break it, tapping her pen against the medical chart.

“I am glad that you’re awake,” she finally said, forcing cheerfulness into her words. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Discomfort?”

“You tell me,” Hanzo muttered indignantly, eyeing the chart in her hand.

“Numbers and charts don’t reflect feeling, Hanzo. As your doctor, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“If you are going out of your way to behave courteously for Genji or Jesse’s sakes, you needn’t bother,” Hanzo growled. “I know you dislike me for what I did to my brother. I know the sentiment is probably stronger after…this situation, whatever it may be. I am also sure there are other doctors who would take over for you. I would prefer someone who is impartial to someone who cannot stand the sight of me.”

Angela chewed on her lip and stopped the tapping of her pen. Her eyes flicked downward and then away, before following the chart as she placed it on the table beside her coffee mug. With her hands free, she folded them primly in her lap and took a deep breath. Even then, she still couldn’t keep them still, wringing them together.

“You’re right,” she started, earning her a sneer from Hanzo. “The memory of what you did to Genji has plagued me every day since you arrived at the Watchpoint. And even before that. I’ve built up a hatred for you, the man who I saw so cruelly destroy someone who depended on his protection and guidance. The day Genji was brought in…the day he became what he is today…that was the day I began to curse the name ‘Hanzo Shimada’ with my entire being. Sometimes even more than Genji sometimes did, I would imagine.”

Hanzo turned his face away and let his steely brown eyes throw knives out the window. He didn’t need to hear this. He’d relived it every day since that fateful night – rubbed salt into his own wounds by replaying words and memories over and over. Perhaps she knew that. Perhaps this was some attempt at kicking him while he was down – to finally admit her hatred for him while he was too out-of-sorts to fire back at her. Whatever it was, he began to grind his teeth and will her away with his mind, hoping she would take the hint and leave him be. She didn’t.

“That hatred is a cancer, you know,” she said thoughtfully, picking up her mug to trace the rim with her finger to keep her nervous hands busy. “I didn’t understand it at the time. I felt righteous in my hatred. Justified. Here was a man who had cut down his brother during the prime of his life, all for recognition from a family who behaved as anything but. Hardly the thought process for someone who has dedicated their life to helping others, but it flourished within me nonetheless. And I let it grow, like a festering wound, until it caused me to do something I will never forgive myself for. Not for as long as I live.”

That got Hanzo’s attention. He turned his head to look at her, settling back against the unyielding hospital pillows. She still wasn’t meeting his eyes, but he knew she could feel his eyes from the way she subtly curled up on herself and looked to the other side of the room.

“I was the one who put you here,” she blurted out, immediately wincing when the words were out in the open. Hanzo let his eyebrows raise to the ceiling, but didn’t do her the favor of butting in. Not yet.

“I did something _awful_ , Hanzo, under the delusion that it was something _necessary_. And from what I’ve learned from Genji about you, I’d say you felt the same way when you did what you did. Forgive me if I’m wrong on that account.”

“Your point in all of this?” Hanzo finally asked, his patience wearing thin. She was hitting too close to home, and he just didn’t have it _in_ him to have his heart hurting as much as his body did.

“My point is that while you _may_ have been correct in your observations about my feelings before, I cannot say that they are correct now,” she said, a bit softer, as if trying to calm a beast circling in its cage. “ _I_ put that comm chip in your burner phone. _I_ led your captors to you. And all the while I kept trying to convince myself that it was the right thing. The _best_ thing. That I was saving everyone by putting you in harm’s way. I am disgusted with myself for it. I could barely look at my face in the mirror once I’d finally realized what I’d done to you. To Jesse and to Genji. And now…now I understand. I understand how things came to pass as they did…and how _easily_ it happened. I can’t…I can’t bring myself to hate you anymore. How can I hate someone for doing something so unspeakable when I turned around and did the same?”

She had to take a sip of her coffee to keep the tremor out of her voice, but Hanzo noted a bit of moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. This was definitely _not_ how he expected this to go, and he was honestly taken aback by her sincerity. It was made even worse when she finally lifted her eyes and brushed a strand of blond hair from her face.

“I am truly sorry, Hanzo.”

The archer contemplated her words carefully, cutting out the bullshit to get to the core of it all. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, their situations shared similarities that he just couldn’t ignore. This time, however, he was playing the part of the victim with someone _else_ asking for forgiveness. It was almost surreal.

His thoughts immediately went to Genji. Of all the people in the world who had reason to deny him closure, his brother was at the top of the list. And yet, after years of self-torment and pain at his hands, the younger Shimada had extended his arms to him and uttered three of the most unexpected words Hanzo could ever hope to receive.

“I forgive you.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could question it, but once they were, Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to regret them. He was just as surprised as Angela to hear them come out of his mouth, but no, he didn’t wish to take them back. He meant them. It was a relief.

“Guilt is something I have come to know quite well,” he said without an inkling of the harshness from earlier. “The suffering that I have endured thanks to my own actions is not something I would wish on anyone. Not even someone who once despised me.” He looked to her then, finally, and schooled his expression into the soberest look he could think of.

“I killed my brother,” he began to say, letting the words settle on his tongue like weights. Angela opened her mouth to interject, but Hanzo shook his head. “I _killed_ my brother. And yet…because of you, he has life again. A life that he wants me to be a _part_ of again, even after everything I have done. Never in a thousand lifetimes could I repay you for the chance you have offered me. A chance to have _forgiveness._ What kind of man would I be if I did not try to give you the same?”

Angela was barely keeping it together at the end, and with the barest of smiles, Hanzo reached over to retrieve a tissue box, extending it to her. She quickly fumbled with pulling one out, then dabbed her eyes with it.

“Thank you,” she said, finally leaning forward to place a hand over his own. “I hope that after this is all said and done…perhaps we could…start fresh?”

“I…would not be opposed to it,” Hanzo said awkwardly, clearing his throat. Angela took the hint and quickly retrieved her hand, though her mood was hardly dampened. She leveled him with a pleased smile and reached over to take the medical chart and pen back into her lap.

“Well. Let’s start by getting back to basics then, shall we?” she asked, taking the pen cap between her teeth to remove it. She turned the pen in her hand to press the cap onto the end of the pen and then smiled again.

“So. Hanzo. How are you feeling now?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ugh, what could they be _yammering_ about?” Sombra groaned, leaning her head on the shoulder of one of the UN soldiers standing outside. The man pulled a face and looked at her sideways, but otherwise didn’t engage her beyond shifting a little on his feet.

“She’s his _doctor_ ,” Winston said with a flat look. “I’m sure it could be any _number_ of things. Things that we _don’t_ need to be present for.”

“But it’s _boring_ out here,” she whined.

“We could go check out the caf?” Lena offered, always happy to help. “Or we could head back to the ship? Got a few board games in there.”

“Oh. _Honey_ ,” Sombra said, moving up to give her a pat on the head. “You are just _precious_. But no. Not on your life.”

“Then what _do_ you want to do?” Hana finally asked. “And don’t even _think_ about asking me to play with my gamepad. You’d probably make it come to life and try to eat my face.”

“Woah, that would actually be pretty cool to see,” Lucio chimed in. “Maybe after it was done I could swipe it and have it dance on my booth during concerts.”

“Hah, hah, very funny,” she said, playfully batting him on the shoulder.

“Why would you want a tiny robot to dance?” Reinhardt asked loudly, making a few of the passersby glance over their shoulder. “Back in _my_ day, concerts had _people._ Playing _instruments._ ”

“Hey, I still play instruments,” Lucio said. “Just because they aren’t _violins_ and stuff doesn’t mean they aren’t instruments.”

“Kids these days don’t know the meaning of music,” Torbjorn commented, his attention distracted. He’d somehow managed to purloin a defibrillator and was unscrewing its insides with a tiny screwdriver while sitting on a nearby bench. “It’s all banging and loud noises.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Lucio objected.

“Okay, as _riveting_ as this conversation is, I am still bored,” Sombra said, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“And you _still_ have yet to offer a suggestion on what we should do while we wait,” Winston said.

“Whatever it is, get to it and do it _quietly_ ,” McCree finally snapped from his place leaning against a wall, his hat pulled over his eyes. He was still in his boxers and white t-shirt, but could hardly be bothered about it.

“Aw, someone’s _cranky_ ,” Sombra grinned. McCree realized his mistake too late – if there was one thing Sombra enjoyed doing, it was bothering him. Drawing attention to himself had him screwed. She slid away from the soldier and instead curled her hands around McCree’s bicep, smirking. “Aren’t you happy your little corazón is back in the land of the living?”

“I’d be a whole hell of a lot _better_ if you’d go find someone else to annoy,” he grunted. Sombra feigned a hurt gasp and pressed her hand to her chest.

“And after all I did to help you in your time of need!”

“Hey, speakin’ of which, where the hell were you when all of us were gettin’ our asses kicked by Akande and his little can openers?” McCree asked, tipping his hat up with his knuckle. “For someone who was so keen on bein’ an Overwatch agent, you sure did make yourself scarce pretty damn quick.”

“I was doing…stuff,” she said with a shrug. “Important last-minute business. Oh! And speaking of which…” she trailed off before leaning in with a truly _wicked_ grin. “…when are we going to Dorado?”  

“ _What?_ ” Jesse hissed, clamping a hand over her mouth on reflex. She laughed behind his palm and watched as his eyes scanned their companions to see if anyone had heard. Once she’d set her sights on the cowboy, they’d all gotten into their own conversations, the loudest of which involved Lucio defending modern music. Only Genji was near enough to overhear, standing on the other side of the door in the same fashion as McCree.

Once satisfied, he removed his hand and scowled at her. “How the hell you hear about that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we must not have met,” Sombra snarked. “Hi, I’m Sombra – _brillante_ hacker and all around badass that specializes in espionage, political and military sabotage and data collection. How are _you?_ ”

“All right, cool it,” McCree growled, running a hand over his face. “You tell anyone else?”

“Information isn’t worth shit if you give it away for free, vaquero,” Sombra said, inspecting her fingernails. “So _no._ Your precious baby secret is safe. For now.”

“And it’ll stay that way so long as you get to come, is that it?” McCree surmised, feeling a headache building between his ears.

“Ah, maybe you aren’t as dumb as the spurs suggest,” she sniggered. “So you gonna answer my question, or what? I’m _dying_ for a little action.”

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere with these UN goons hangin’ around,” McCree said simply, leaning back and tipping his hat back down. “And not while Hanzo’s still bedridden. So cool your jets.”

“Oh come _on_ , what kind of trouble is he going to get into from a _bed_ in _Vienna_?” she asked with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I mean, I will admit he is a veritable _magnet_ for the stuff, but even _this_ would be a stretch.”

“That still don’t solve our UN problem,” McCree drawled. “Unless you got a new sanction shoved up your ass, we’re still grounded till they figure out this shit _and_ what they’re gonna do about Hanzo.”

“I’ve got _better_ ,” she said, grinning wolfishly. McCree couldn’t help it. He tilted his hat sideways to level one eye on her, rising to the bait he _knew_ she’d laid out for him.

“…better? The hell does that mean?”

“You got the time on you?” she asked suddenly. McCree, utterly confused, blinked at her and then leaned on his heels to glance at the clock above the nurse’s station.

“Uh, it’s about noon, looks like.”

Sombra stared at him and made a face. “You gotta say it.”

“Say what?”

“ _It_ , cowboy. You don’t say it, I don’t tell you what’s up.”

Now it was McCree’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s _high noon._ ”

Sombra’s smile widened almost impossibly and she put both hands on her hips, leaning forward.

“I’d say our UN buddies here are gonna have a flight to catch in 3…2…”

Like clockwork, one of the men pressed two fingers to his ear. It was difficult to hear the conversation, even only being a few feet away, but it ended with both men trading looks, swinging their weapons around to their backs, and nodding to Winston. The scientist looked bewildered, but nodded back.

“Your confiscated stuff should be in a protected vault downstairs,” the soldier said, stretching his arms above his head. “Lieutenant Aldridge is down there – he’s been given instructions to get it back to you before we all move out.”

“I’m sorry…move out?” Winston asked incredulously. “Uh, not that I’m _complaining_ or anything, but did…did I miss something here?”

“Just got the order to stand down,” the other soldier said. “Guess you guys got lucky or something. I don’t make the orders, I just follow them.”

“…oh. Uh, all right then,” was the ape’s only response as he scratched the top of his head with his burly fingers. “Thank you?”

“Don’t _thank_ them,” Hana whispered, thwapping him on the arm. “They were dicks, remember?”

“ _Language_ ,” he chided. “Though…yeah, you’re right.”

The soldiers just looked at each other again and then offered the group a lazy salute, and then they were moving down the hall, chatting as if the past few days hadn’t happened at all.

McCree spun around to fix Sombra in an accusing glare, but she was still beaming from ear to ear.

“What’d you _do_?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget to mention? Along with all the other stuff I said earlier, I’m _also_ an extortionist. You would not _believe_ some of the stuff I dug up on those UN higher ups.” She was cackling by the end, and everyone was suddenly very aware of what kind of _business_ she’d been up to during all those late nights and early mornings. “Gave them until noon today to drop the charges on us and Hanzo or else _bam._ Shit bypasses hitting the fan and goes straight to supernova all over the web. Looks like it worked.”

“You are _unbelievable_ ,” Winston groaned loudly, sitting back to press the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Yeah, I am, aren’t I,” she said smugly, buffing her nails on her coat.

“ _Not_ a compliment!” Winston barked. “I don’t know _how_ , but you just made this whole thing even _worse!”_

She winked over to McCree, who was suddenly _really_ needing a big fat cigar right about then. The rest of the gang turned their attention to the scientist, who looked ready to have a damn conniption. In the background, Athena’s calm computerized voice was gently reminding him about his blood pressure.

“So, vaquero, when are we going?”

Jesse gaped like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing, but then huffed the hair out of his face with a heavy breath and folded his arms.

“We still ain’t goin’ anywhere while Hanzo’s cooped up like this,” he whispered back. “No amount of back-dealin’ is gonna change that.”

“Well, you _may_ wanna get moving soon,” she said nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, once again rising to her very obvious attempt at baiting him. It was really just too easy. “And why’s that?”

If the devil wore purple, he _still_ couldn’t manage to pull off the expression that Sombra wore on her face at that very moment. She was the big bad wolf, Cruella de Vil, and the Wicked Witch of the West all rolled into one. McCree was really, _really_ needing that cigar.

“Because I have it on _high_ authority that our old buddy Gabe is planning on busting Akande and Princess Spider _out._ During transport exchange. In _five_ days.”

 
    
    
      
    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a twitter where i post updates and chatter incessantly about nothing: @heysugarmaddy  
> i also have a tumblr where i post updates and reblog mchanzo stuff: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com  
> or you can buy me a ko-fi: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	31. Dorado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated. <3

That night found Jesse McCree curled up with his head on Hanzo’s chest as the archer laid against the pillows and stared at the ceiling, stroking his hair. He’d resisted the urge to do so while the nurses had come in to check on Hanzo during their usual rounds, making idle chit chat and asking the standard questions. Jesse had sat in the armchair across the room, eyes out the window while his legs bounced in a quick, steady rhythm thanks to the restlessness of his thoughts. Hanzo had noticed, of course, but neglected to mention anything.

Even when the heavy step of the nurses’ clogs moved out the door and down the hall. Even when the cowboy had flicked off the lights, peeled off his sweat clothes and almost _leapt_ into the small hospital bed. They both just laid there, happy for the comfort that each other provided. Hanzo’s thoughts were still centered around the conversation with Angela, while McCree was stuck in a never-ending loop of Gabriel Reyes soundbites banging around between his ears.

Hospitals were never silent, even at night, so for a while they both just laid there and listened to the sound of squeaky wheels passing by the room, or purposeful footsteps and hushed words.

McCree felt guilty, first and foremost, for even _thinking_ of his own problems at a time like this. Hanzo had just been through something unimaginable, was probably _still_ going through it, and he was too busy contemplating how he was going to get away from there and make it to Dorado.

“You are very stiff,” the voice above him said.

Jesse jumped at the severity of Hanzo’s tone against the general quiet of the room, but to his credit, recovered quickly.

“Jus’ happy to see you, darlin’,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows up at him in the dark. He earned a tug to his hair in rebuke and laughed a little.

“You _know_ what I mean,” Hanzo grumbled.

“Yeah…yeah, guess I do,” McCree admitted. But that was _all_ he did, keeping his jaw tight and his words to himself for once.

Hanzo was never the type to pry, especially now. McCree was hardly surprised when the archer asked him no follow-up questions and instead continued to run his fingers through his hair like it would solve both of their problems. McCree was grateful for all of it – the trust that he had that it would all be divulged eventually, the calm strokes of his fingertips against his scalp, and the even cadence of his breathing. But, even though he was grateful for it, he knew he had to break the silence.

“Might be goin’ away for a few days,” he blurted out. He felt Hanzo’s hand falter and instinctively ball up, like he meant to hold Jesse in place. Hanzo swallowed hard and Jesse could feel the action beneath his ear.

“…oh?” Hanzo asked, attempting to feign nonchalance even though Jesse could feel his heartbeat pick up. Not like Jesse could blame him. This was the absolute _worst_ fucking time for any of this. The way it was making Hanzo react was yet _another_ reason for him to sock Gabriel in the nose next time he saw him.

“Nothin’ dangerous. I promise,” Jesse soothed, sitting up a bit on his elbow.

“That is a lie,” Hanzo said immediately. “And one that I do not appreciate. You would not be leaving this quickly for anything that was _not_ dangerous.”

There wasn’t much he could say to refute that. If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure _what_ was in store for him at the so-called “safe house” that Gabe had invited him to. Sombra’s obligatory presence didn’t add any confidence to the situation either. At the very least Genji would be coming too, but McCree had a feeling that was the last thing Hanzo needed to hear.

“Just gotta…just gotta tie up some loose ends, that’s all,” Jesse evaded, sitting up fully to run a hand through his hair.

Hanzo regarded him in silence, but Jesse could feel his eyes boring into him. He found himself wanting to look and not wanting to at the same time, so he instead chose the middle option and turned to watch the bob of Hanzo’s Adam’s apple.

“It is just so…soon. It must be important,” Hanzo said, bringing his hands to his lap to look down at them. McCree knew instantly that there was a lot that he _wasn’t_ saying with that statement, and leaned back down to press a kiss to the spot he’d been staring at on his throat. Jesse could almost hear his thoughts when their skin touched. _Why are you leaving me? We both just found each other again. You know that I need you. This is more important… than me…_

“Nothing’s more important than you, sugar,” he cooed, pressing his head into Hanzo’s cheek. “Trust me. Goin’ away from you is the _last_ thing I want. But I gotta go if it means keepin’ you safe.”

Hanzo shook his head and turned away. McCree sighed heavily and sat up again, letting his legs hang off the side of the bed and his feet touch the cold floor.

“Hanzo, please under-“

“I am so angry,” Hanzo finally murmured. McCree kept his eyes down, feeling damn useless suddenly. He didn’t have answers – at least, none that would do any good. If he hadn’t had this on his plate, he could have easily snuggled in close, hugged him tight and told him he’d be there, _right_ there, to help him through it. As it was, he felt like he was abandoning Hanzo, so it just didn’t feel like the right thing.

“I think that’s to be expected,” he said, which sounded dumb as soon as it was out of his mouth. Of _course_ it was, idiot. Of course.

But Hanzo was merciful, even when emotionally distraught like he was. He didn’t snap at him or shove him off the bed like Jesse expected him to. Instead he just shifted under the blankets and hissed when his joints harshly protested.

“Quit movin’, Han,” Jesse said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Angela said-“

“ _Fuck_ what Angela says,” Hanzo growled. He’d forgiven her, yes, or at least he _said_ he did, but that didn’t mean he needed to like her. Not right away. Jesse could get that, so he made no effort to chide him.

“I am a burden this way,” Hanzo continued. “I am simultaneously a punishment _and_ useless. None of this would have happened if I had not been so careless back in Hanamura. And now you are all stuck _cleaning up loose ends_ because of me while I am in no position to help with the damage I have caused.”

“Knock it off, Han,” Jesse sighed softly. “Just knock it off. That ain’t true and you know it.”

“No. _No,”_ he yelled, frustration evident on his face.

Then, more quietly, “I want to use my questions now.”

Jesse blinked and found Hanzo staring at him resolutely, one hand fisted into the material of his hospital gown while the other supported him behind his back against the bed. If he was being completely honest, he was hoping Hanzo would spread this out a bit more – use only one question and give himself time to process everything Jesse had to tell him. But he’d been kidding himself – Hanzo Shimada did _not_ take things slowly, and he most certainly didn’t beat around the bush. Still, the elephant in the room terrified the cowboy, so he was going to do his best to wrangle it into a corner and away from in between them.

“Han…this probably ain’t the best time for all that,” he said, doing his best to be soothing. “We’re both gettin’ ready for bed. I bet if you sleep on things, they’ll be-“

“At least put me out of my misery before you leave me. _Tell me,_ Jesse. Who did I kill,” Hanzo said, completely steadfast and unyielding, as usual. It wasn’t phrased like a question – there was no uptick at the end. It was the tone of a _yakuza_ heir. One that didn’t take no for an answer and who didn’t expect it to be given in the first place.

Jesse stared at him for a long time, meeting his challenging look with one of quiet speculation and resignation. He couldn’t avoid this forever. A deal was a deal.

“Nine execs from rival clans and some Italian senator that was backdoor dealin’ with all of ‘em,” McCree said begrudgingly, like the information was being forced from him. Which it was. “Think that’s it. Like I told you – it wasn’t anyone you need t’feel guilty about.”  

Hanzo’s eyes frantically went down to a bare patch of mattress that had been displayed after the blankets had moved and let his gaze stay there while his mind fought to catch up. McCree didn’t move. He knew Hanzo would spook the _second_ he even made a move to touch him, so he stayed where he was. Solid. Constant. He wouldn’t admit it now, but Hanzo would appreciate it later.

He could barely see the outline of Hanzo’s jaw working back and forth, back and forth. He was grinding his teeth again, playing through scenarios in his head. What did this mean? What have I done? What happens now? Would the Shimada-gumi rise to power again? Take over? Would the work he’d spent a chunk of his life doing all be undone? Would they send more assassins? Would he need to start again?

But both men knew Hanzo had to ration out his questions. He only had two left, so he had to choose them wisely. That was the deal.

“Who did I _hurt_?”

This one was asked a bit more softly and less harsh than the first, but it held much, _much_ more weight. Hanzo didn’t realize it, but McCree sure as shit did, so he mentally braced himself for whatever tidal wave was about to come his way. The dam of Hanzo’s emotions hadn’t given way yet. This _might_ be enough to force the floodgates open.

“Lena got the worst of it,” he said, clearing his throat at the same time. “You, uh…y’knocked her chronal accelerator outta whack and gave her a good shock. She was unconscious for a spell. Had to wait for her to come find us before Winston could set ‘er straight.”

Hanzo jerked backwards like he’d been struck.

“She gave no indication that anything like that had happened,” Hanzo breathed. “She…she seemed _happy_ to see me.”

“Course she did, Han. And she probably is,” McCree reasoned. “You know as well as I do that Lena is the _last_ one outta all of us to hold a grudge. She’s fine now. Angie patched her right up.”

“But she was not the only one,” Hanzo said. His phrasing was smart – it wasn’t a question, but a definite statement. One that McCree still had to deny or verify. He swallowed hard.

“Nah…it…she wasn’t,” he stumbled. Hanzo was shaking already, teetering on the edge of a precipice that only a few words from Jesse would send him careening into. But a deal was a deal. And Jesse was always a man of his word.

“Hana took a tumble. You tore ‘er mech in half – she wasn’t too thrilled about that. But just a few scratches, same as Lena.”

Hanzo was watching with as much focus as he gave a target with an arrow nocked. It made Jesse uncomfortable; made him squirm. He hadn’t brought up the bad part. The part that would tear him apart. McCree cleared his throat, looking anywhere but Hanzo’s face. But he could still feel that gaze stabbing into him, waiting for the bomb to drop.

You, uh…got Genji pretty good too,” he said. The bed jerked with Hanzo’s full-body reaction, and Jesse was still near enough to feel the other man start to shake.

“Oh god, no…” Hanzo began to cry, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “No, no, _no…”_

“He’s _fine_ , Han! You saw him! He ain’t angry or nothin’! It was just a lil tear in his suit!”

But Hanzo wasn’t listening anymore, one hand pressed to his forehead while the other was clamped over his mouth. He was rocking back and forth in a futile attempt at comfort, hiccupping softly and shaking his head. His eyes weren’t even focused on the mattress anymore. McCree could practically see the supercut behind his eyes – a sword, blood, splinters of wood and cold steel. And that was _without_ McCree mentioning that he’d been wielding a sword. Hanzo did _not_ need to know that. Maybe not ever.

Jesse moved up onto his knees and scooped the archer into his lap. Hanzo didn’t resist, but stayed tense and stiff in his grip, even when McCree did his best to rub soothing circles into his back with one hand.

“I would have killed him. I would have lost him. It would have happened again,” Hanzo sobbed, close to wailing. “It would have happened again. _It would have happened-“_

“But it didn’t, Han. You gotta _listen_ , baby,” McCree murmured, tightening his hold. “It wasn’t you pullin’ the strings – I keep tellin’ you. We’re good. _You’re_ good. We’re all just happy you’re safe. I love you. We _all_ love you.”

But Hanzo _wasn’t_ good. He didn’t relax, not one bit, clutching McCree as he fell into a pattern of crying jags and quiet muttering. He’d been holding this back since he’d woken up. He _had_ to have been. No one with this much suffering built up inside could make the bold gesture of forgiving the one who’d set the dominoes in motion like Angela had said he did. It was an act that had been reinforced by ignorance. Hanzo hadn’t known the details, so he hadn’t known that there was a _reason_ for this kind of anguish.

And, of course, McCree just _had_ to be the one to show him that there was. Of-fucking- _course._

McCree was trapped between wanting to call for the nurse to get some sedatives into him so he could sleep or just letting him ride it out. He was panicked and miserable, wanting nothing more than to reach into Hanzo’s head and pluck out the pain. And then shoot it, strangle it, cut it into tiny pieces and set it on fire so it couldn’t do this to his love again.

This was a mess. An absolute, fucking _mess._

And he still had to go to Dorado. Away from Hanzo. Who was behaving so _unlike_ Hanzo right now, grieving and emotional, it made McCree’s chest hurt.

“You…” Hanzo began suddenly, grabbing at McCree’s shirt and tugging at it to try and get his attention. “Did I hurt you?”

It was asked with such desperation that Jesse couldn’t help the surge of affection that washed through him. It conflicted with the pain he felt at the expression on Hanzo’s face. His fierce, prideful fighter, reduced to a tormented, hospital-ridden victim.

“Jesse, tell me I didn’t,” he begged. “Tell me you were safe from me. Please. _Please!”_

McCree hugged him so tight, he had to remind himself that Hanzo was battered and bruised along with it. But when Hanzo didn’t stop him, he kept right on going.

“Nah, honeysuckle, I swear. You didn’t touch lil’ ol’ me. I was right as rain.” _Physically, anyway._

Now it was Hanzo’s turn to kiss him all over, pressing light touches to his neck, his jaw, his shaking hands sliding up under his shirt to run down his back and over his sides while he gritted out apologies in English and Japanese. McCree let him do it, whispering soft words into his ears.

Whatever Hanzo needed, he could take. McCree would give him all he had and more, if only to see that stern look of confidence back on his face. To hear the steady thud of arrows hitting targets. To be able to roll around in a bed much too small for them, getting tangled in blankets and laughing the night away while they got too drunk to care.

To spend a night alone with each other and _not_ dissolve into tears and pain.

But when Hanzo’s mouth found his collarbone, wet cheeks leaving trails on his bare skin, McCree knew this was not the way to go. Not now. Not like this.

“Hanzo…” he groaned, taking the archer by the wrists to move them away. “Honey, we _can’t_.”

“I want to feel something other than _this_ ,” he murmured, shaking his head. He kept nipping away at any exposed flesh he could find, pulling at his wrists and pressing himself up until they were both flush together. “You can make me feel better. Please…I just…I _need…”_

McCree released his wrists to cup both cheeks in his hands, forcing his head up. Hanzo had the look of an abused dog. It was an awful look for anyone to sport, but on Hanzo it was…so terribly unfitting.

“There’s nothin’ I’d like more than to put some lovin’ on you, honey-pie. Trust me, I’m countin’ down the days until you’re let outta this hole so I can pamper the fuck out of you an’ show you how much I missed you. But tonight ain’t that night, no matter how sad an’ sick an’ starvin’ for each other we are. You an’ I both know that.”

Hanzo let out a truly pathetic whimper and buried his face in Jesse’s chest, giving way to a whole new series of tears. The cowboy heaved a bone-weary sigh and wrapped him up in his arms again. Nothing he could say or do would help. This wasn’t a battle he’d ever had to face before. One he’d never expected to help someone _else_ through. He wasn’t a psychiatrist or a doctor. He wasn’t some therapist that could ease the yolk of grief from off of Hanzo’s shoulders.

Okay, so all that being said, he _did_ know what it was like to be upset. So upset that he didn’t know what to do with himself, lost in playback after playback of poor choices and tragedy. Maybe he could put that experience to good use.

A distraction. That’s what this needed. A good, ol’ fashioned distraction.

“Hey,” he started softly, trying his best to smile though he felt like doing anything but. “That was three questions, right? That means we’re up to the good part.”

Hanzo quieted just enough to hear him, though McCree figured he was getting exhausted from all the emotional exertion. He was fine with that. Hanzo needed sleep, and if this was one way to get him to do it, then he was going to count his blessings.

“C’mon. Lay down, darlin’” he murmured, adjusting his weight so Hanzo could lie back against the pillows. The archer kept his eyes to the ceiling, like looking at McCree face-to-face again would send him into a tailspin. McCree didn’t mind.

He moved the blankets off to the side until Hanzo was completely uncovered, and then smiled as he pulled one of the archer’s arms out and began to massage into the muscle of his bicep with steady, circular movements.

“Angie said we’d have to work on your circulation if we want y’to heal up all nice and pretty. Figure a lil’ massage won’t hurt nothin’,” he muttered, keeping his eyes to his work. Hanzo was still stiff as a board, but slowly began to relax the more McCree rubbed. “Okay, now you gotta do somethin’ for me, remember?” he asked, though he knew Hanzo was unlikely to answer. He didn’t, but the way he settled into soft sniffles meant he was listening. It was a start.

“I think after this is all done, we’re gonna go on a big vacation,” he continued, focused on breaking the uneasy quiet of the room. “Yeah…I think a nice trip’d do us both some good. Where you wanna go, Han? Anywhere in the world. You name it. Paris? Get some nice cheese and sleep with a view of the Eiffel tower? Drink some good wine? Maybe we can even go dancin’. People always told me I got two left feet, but I think I’d be a damn good student if you’d be willin’ t’teach me…”

McCree moved on to the other arm to repeat his treatment and took satisfaction in noticing that Hanzo’s breathing had evened out. He twitched under Jesse’s deepening penetration to his muscles, slowly letting stress ooze out no matter how hard he wanted to keep it in.

“C’mon, Han. Gotta talk to me – that’s the deal,” Jesse cooed. “Where you want me to take you?”

Nothing. Still no answer. Trying to get Hanzo to talk when he was like this was like pulling teeth. But McCree was nothing if not patient when he needed to be, so when the archer kept his lip buttoned, Jesse just shrugged and settled into humming to himself. It seemed to do the trick, because after a few more minutes, Hanzo had stopped sniffling entirely.

“Santa Fe.”

The answer was almost too soft for McCree to hear, Hanzo’s voice completely blown from his crying, but the cowboy heard him and smiled broadly despite himself.

“You get anywhere in the world an’ you wanna go to the desert?” he asked with a laugh.

“I want to see it. It is where you are from,” the archer explained, his words still shaky. But his eyelids were drooping, so Jesse kept things going.

“Mmmhm. That it is. Some of the prettiest damn sights in the world out there, if I do say so myself. Used to spend the night under the stars with a horse tied up nearby, waitin’ for life t’come and get me.”

Come to think of it, bringing his two worlds together would be…nice. More than nice. He and Hanzo could drive out to the sticks, just the two of them, set up camp somewhere out in the mountains. He could bring his guitar and croon songs for Hanzo until the sun came up or until the archer got too embarrassed to let him continue – whichever came first. Then they could dance around the fire and laugh, and howl at the moon like a couple of coyotes.

McCree had gotten so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed when Hanzo had dozed off, only broken out of it by the sound of his soft snores. The cowboy smiled softly and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, wiping the remnants of soggy tears away from his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Then he careful pulled the blankets up over him, slipped from the bed, and moved to the couch to rifle through his things.

The bent cigarillo offered little comfort, but he went out to smoke it anyway. Hanzo had a long, _long_ way to go until he was even halfway normal again. And McCree wasn’t all that great either.

He still had one last demon to confront before he could have ‘happily ever after,’ and _fuck_ if this wasn’t a doozy.

He was going to kick the floating, vaporous ass of Gabriel Reyes if it was the last thing he did.

 

  

* * *

 

 

The flight to Dorado was uneventful, which was a nice little change. It gave McCree ample opportunity to get a nice buzz going, which he sorely needed even though it probably wasn’t the smartest idea in the world. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone into a fight with liquor in his system before, so as he swirled his whiskey in his rocks glass and watched the ice melt, he took his chances.

He couldn’t avoid explaining the situation to Winston if he wanted him to let Lena fly them out. It was a necessary obligation, and one he was careful to tiptoe around. The ape didn’t need to know the specifics. And, as guilty as he was for doing it, the second McCree mentioned that he was doing it for Hanzo, Winston basically gave him free rein. Aircraft, pilot, supplies – whatever he needed, all offered with a hearty clap on the shoulder and a pitiful look in his eyes. The cowboy _hated_ that look, but if he wanted to get out to Dorado and back again, he’d need to squash the attitude and get down to business.

He’d slipped out before Hanzo had woken up the next morning. He hadn’t _wanted_ to do it – not by a longshot. But there was no way he was getting away once Hanzo was awake. It just wouldn’t happen.

But that still didn’t stop Genji from staring at him accusingly the moment the Orca took off. Jesse couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew the expression there.

“Oh gimme a break, Genj,” he groused, slumping in his chair and letting his red serape bunch up to his chin. “You’re actin’ like I’m enjoying this.”

“You could have said goodbye,” the cyborg huffed. “Instead you behaved like a jilted lover after a one-night stand.”

“Speaking from experience, ninja?” Sombra asked from across the cabin, grinning coyly.

“The faster we get out there, the faster we get back,” McCree grumbled before Genji could answer. “Besides, I didn’t see your ass sayin’ goodbye either.”

“You told me Hanzo didn’t know I was going!” Genji defended. “If he is as frail emotionally as you said he is, telling him that I am running off with you to go meet our formerly presumed-dead commander would _probably_ not be a good choice of action.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna be pissed at both of us when we get back.”

Genji folded his arms and waved a hand dismissively.

“With Hanzo, sometimes it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission. After this, I will be lucky if he allows me to go out on missions without his supervision.”

Jesse snorted at that, but he knew it was probably the truth. If they’d thought Hanzo was protective of his brother before, they hadn’t seen anything yet.

“You men are such _babies_ ,” Sombra whined, resting her chin on her fist. “It’s worse than a Spanish soap opera around here with all the… _feelings.”_

“ _You_ shouldn’t even be here,” Jesse growled, stretching a leg over to kick the leg of her chair. “An’ you never _did_ explain why Gabe would want Akande an’ Widowmaker out, anyway. Makes no damn sense.”

“What am I, his secretary? I only know what he tells me, vaquero,” she rolled her eyes, examining her nails.

“An’ he happen to tell you where this safe house is?”

“You’d be shit out of luck if he didn’t, _duh._ Been there a few times. Y’know, when things got too hot. It’s not much, but it serves its purpose. Oh, and uh, hope you like wearing socks with sandals.” She followed that up with a slow, calculated smirk.

“…what?” McCree asked, pulling a face. “Socks an’… _what?”_

“You’ll see!” she giggled.

McCree just stared at her with his lip curled before taking a long swig from his glass.

A mess. This was all a goddamn mess.

But at least Dorado hadn’t changed.

Still the sleepy Mexican city that McCree had come to know earlier in life – tightly packed buildings, their once brightly-colored paint faded and chipped into improvised stucco above terra cotta roads. Loose string lights hung in ropes that crisscrossed and intertwined over the main square, giving an unassuming air of innocence to the city with a darker underbelly. Anyone in Overwatch or with half an eye open could see past it, even when the old ladies shuffled down the road with their loose grocery bags headed for the church on the corner.

The Orca parked right out beyond the city limits, and soon McCree was strolling down semi-barren streets like a sharpshooter looking for a saloon in a ghost town. He kept his eyes peeled for hooligans in goofy face paint – the Los Muertos. Sombra was adamant that they’d stay out of their hair unless they started flashing cash in public places, but McCree and Genji kept their guards up anyway. The cowboy’s hand rarely left Peacekeeper’s grip.

But people were few and far between. And, come to think of it, the city had appeared to have cleaned up a little since the last time McCree had been there. The long stretches of graffiti that had been the calling-card of the dangerous gang presence had since been painted over. Windows were left open, their curtains wafting out with the breeze. There were even teenagers congregated under striped awnings, laughing and drinking soda out of glass bottles.

Now he could probably guess why Gabe had picked it. But still. What kind of _friend_ could Gabe possibly have in a place like this?

“It’s just up here,” Sombra said, strolling down an alley, calm as can be. McCree and Genji eyed each other, then followed behind cautiously. McCree was actually happy for the loud jingle of his spurs echoing against the walls on either side of him. It made him feel confident. Collected. _Normal._ It’d been awhile since he’d worn them for any long period of time, but there was no need for stealth here. He could knock his heels together and only have to worry about funny looks rather than a bullet to the head.

The woman in purple darted up a fire escape that rattled under her weight, and Genji was the next to follow, nimbly hopping upstairs three at a time. McCree was slower but just as graceful with his steps, chewing his cigarillo until fragments split off beneath his teeth.

The hallway inside had seen some shit – that much was obvious. The carpet was fragmented in patches and frayed up from the corners, losing its bluish hue closer to the windows where the sun had bleached it. White doors with apartment numbers lined either side, some with splinters taken from their frames and some with chips in their knobs. The air smelled like a stale combination of laundry softener and must, but it surprisingly wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

And it _definitely_ wasn’t a place Jesse McCree had expected to find Reaper.

Sombra stopped at a door at the end of the hall on the right. It said ‘2G’, but the G was loose, so it swung from side to side on its nails when she rapped her knuckles against it. There was commotion inside – a grumbled question and a shuffle. McCree tightened his hand on Peacekeeper, trying to not let himself be distracted by the muffled Spanish being spoken in a child’s voice behind a door nearby.

“Hola, old man. It’s your _favorite_ tenant!” Sombra called through the door. The voice on the other side groaned in irritation. And then there was a chain and a padlock being undone.

When the door swung open, it _wasn’t_ Gabe that stood there.

“You mind not calling me ‘old man’?” the man said with a strange fondness to his rough voice, his eyes facing off to the side. McCree sucked in a breath and could see Genji jump an inch next to him.

The man’s head flicked in their direction, turning his ear towards them instead of his eyes.

“Who else you bring with you?” he asked, his heavy scarred visage creasing with the question.

Sombra looked to McCree expectantly, waiting for him to make their presence known, but the cowboy was too busy staring. Staring at the older man in front of them, dressed in a loose-fitting gray t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The man who used to be Strike Commander. And who _used_ to be dead.

The years had not been kind to Soldier 76. That shock of blond hair had gone white a long time back, and he had lost a drastic amount of it, his hairline slinking back until it was right on the edge of being called ‘receding.’ He was scarred to hell too, the thick, red stripes marring pale skin. But he still had that sharp nose. That strong jaw. A countenance and straight shoulders that screamed ‘military, born and bred.’ A regular GI Joe figurine in the flesh after having been given to a kid with a mean streak and a magnifying glass.

And he was blind.

Jesse shifted uncomfortably where he stood, his spurs giving a soft jingle.

“Ah. The kid,” Jack said with a nod, his face breaking into a forced, polite smile. The kind he’d give to reporters back in the day. The one that said ‘I really don’t want to be here right now, but it ain’t your fault.’ McCree wanted to punch him.

“Gabe said you’d be coming,” he elaborated, straightening himself up until he took up most of the doorway. “Didn’t think it’d be this soon, though.”

“It is…good to see you, Jack,” Genji finally spoke up, causing the older man to tilt his head in his direction. McCree did the same, wide-eyed, wondering how the _hell_ Genji managed to be so calm about this. Then again, if anyone had _any_ experience with coming back from the dead, it was him. It was like they were all part of some club.

“Genji?” Jack asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Gabe didn’t mention…well, hell, you should all get in here. I’m guessing you don’t want to spend time catching up out here in the hallway.”

“This _ain’t_ a pleasure visit, _Commander_ ,” McCree finally growled, his jaw tight. Jack deflated a little, but kept his words to himself, shuffling backwards until Sombra could breeze past him.

“Where’s the _other_ old guy?” Sombra asked, flopping herself down into a tacky orange armchair that was set in front of the television. A football game was playing. A good, all-American sport – just the thing McCree remembered Jack watching in the breakroom in between paperwork and missions. It was obviously just for background noise now. Jack’s eyes were unfocused as he moved into the small kitchenette and grabbed a few mugs, putting the tea kettle on from memory.

“ _Gabriel_ is in the shower,” he grumbled, his voice stoic and uncomfortable. He never _had_ been good at playing entertainer.

McCree looked around, taking his hat off to rub his eyes. He’d seen some weird shit in his days, he had to admit. Some _weird_ shit. Dragons, magic, explosions and mad science. But nothing, _nothing_ had him questioning his sanity more than the apartment they were in now. This domestic as _fuck_ apartment with pale striped wallpaper and shag carpeting.

He had to be dreaming. This had to be fake. He’d fallen asleep on the plane on the ride over and was conked out with a bottle of whiskey in his lap. Or maybe he’d slipped and fallen as he’d been walking down the ramp. Brain damage, that’s what this was. Pure brain damage.

There was no _way_ Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were alive and well, sharing an apartment together in the middle of Dorado-fuckin’-Mexico.

A mug was pressed into his hand and startled him into jumping.

“Easy, kid. It’s just tea. Don’t have coffee anymore – doctor says it’s bad for my blood pressure.”

McCree _glared_ at him, but took the mug when he remembered the scathing look wouldn’t do any good. Jack didn’t bother trying to make small talk, instead moving around the apartment, tidying little things while sipping his tea.

“…what the _fuck_ , Jack?” McCree finally asked, unable to keep the vibrating energy tamped down any longer. This was a fucking fever dream. An act. It had to be. It _had_ to be. This wasn’t a safe house. It was a goddamn _old folk’s home._

Jack sighed heavily in that put-upon way of his and leaned back against the countertop. He set down his mug, scowled, and folded his arms.

“I know you’ve got more in you, so just go ahead and get it over with,” Jack said stoically.

“All this time? _All this fucking time?!”_ McCree snarled, gesturing wildly around at his surroundings and pacing back and forth. “An’ you don’t even tell us you’re _here_? None of us? We thought you were _dead_ , you son of a bitch!”

Jack took the words on the chin without flinching. It was true, there was no denying that. And McCree’s anger was justified. No one moved to calm him. Sombra even looked about ready to break out the popcorn.

Jack mulled over what he was going to say before he said it. McCree could see the shadow of the former Commander behind this time-tested version, eyeing him down like a disappointed father. And, unable to help himself, McCree kicked the back of the couch like a petulant teenager, letting out an angry curse.

“Hey, that’s enough,” Jack said through gritted teeth, refusing to move from his position.

“No, it ain’t _nearly_ enough!” McCree shot back, moving forward to poke him in the chest. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t _get_ to hide here like some goddamn _coward_ while the rest of us risk our necks fightin’ for the cause _you_ used to spearhead! And with goddamn _Gabriel.”_

“What about goddamn Gabriel?” came a voice from the next room. “Jack, who are you-“

Gabe walked out with a towel around his shoulders and was rubbing it into his hair. McCree’s eyes widened at him in a sudden fit of rage, fixing him in a look that could frighten a rattlesnake. Gabe didn’t notice him right away, too busy examining his hand. The flesh was slithering around on his bones like it had back in New Zealand, closer to resembling muddy water than actual skin.

He looked up when Genji gasped.

And then looked from him, to Sombra, to McCree. The bastard didn’t even have the nerve to look surprised. But that was Gabe for you. He knew everything, even when he didn’t.

“Oh for fuck’s…did I put a fucking _expiration_ date on that invitation that I’m unaware of?” he said, rolling his exposed eyeballs in their sockets in exasperation. “When I said ‘come to my safe house for answers’, I didn’t mean _now_ , ingrate. Do you ever listen to-“

But Jesse had forgotten Jack entirely and _leapt_ at Gabe, spearing the older man into a bookshelf with his weight. _Now_ Gabe looked surprised, barely managing to lift his hands up to defend himself while Jesse began landing blows to his face. Even if he would never admit it out loud, Genji hesitated _just_ a second before moving in to pull the cowboy off. Jack shuffled over to the sound of the commotion and took McCree by an arm to roughly pull him up.

Sombra didn’t move, as usual, her chin in her hands as she watched with rapt attention.

“Alright. _Alright._ Shit, lemme go,” McCree growled, violently yanking his arms from the other two men and straightening out his coat. The blood that had left remnants on his knuckles in thick black stains only lingered for a second before it evaporated into the air. Gabriel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and watched him with one bloodshot eye as he stood, one hand behind him to prop himself up into a standing position.

“…you punch like a girl,” he said.

If it weren’t for Genji and Jack, McCree would have been pounding his ass into the dirt again.

“I don’t even got _words_ for you,” the cowboy yelled. “No _fuckin’_ words come _close_ to the hell you put us all through.”

“Well that’s a first,” the man snorted. “Jesse McCree without any words. I must have died and gone to heaven.”

“ _Gabe_ ,” Jack muttered, an unmistakable warning in his tone. Gabe just rolled his eyes again and took a deep breath.

“Jackie, put your damn visor on. I don’t need you stumbling around here blind as a bat while we have…company.”

A tendril of blackness slipped out from under the short sleeve of Gabriel’s right arm, slithering through the air until it slid beneath something plastic sitting on a TV tray by the arm chair. It picked it up, like a thick tentacle, and pressed it into Jack’s chest.

The other man grumbled something under his breath but did as he was told, slipped the visor on, and lifted his head to look at them all through a shiny reddish lens. A strand of light jetted across its front, like an EKG machine, before settling into a slim line.

“I hate wearing it in the house,” Jack said.

“I don’t care,” Gabe answered matter-of-factly. “I get punched in my own apartment, _you_ have to wear the visor.”

“Okay, _ladies,”_ Sombra finally spoke up. She’d, at some point, moved to the meager folding table by the side window and was now nursing her tea. Sometimes she even gave Genji a run for his money in the sneak department.

“You think we can all manage to _calm down_ long enough to _not_ break every piece of furniture in the room? Dios mio, I thought we came here to talk.”

“I should have known you had something to do with this,” Gabe grunted.

“Of course, calabaza. You know I live to make your life hell.”

With one final side-eye to McCree, Gabe strode across the room and to the table where he picked up a discarded mug of tea and began to swig. McCree had to hold back a wince as he briefly saw every muscle of Gabriel’s throat working in tandem to swallow down the liquid before his flesh morphed again. It was unnerving.

The room was quiet except for the ambience of the television until Gabriel was finished drinking the cup dry. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth again, eyed the stray remnants of black blood there, and fixed his eyes upwards once more.

“Genji. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Genji said in as monotone a voice as he could muster.

“How’s your brother?”

“You don’t get to _ask_ that,” McCree snapped. “It’s because of you that he is how he is in the first place, asshole.”

“No, _Talon_ is the reason he went through what he did,” Gabriel corrected, setting down the mug. “I was following orders. And those _orders_ said to collect him. So I did. That’s it.”

“You think that’s the end of it?” McCree asked heatedly. “You think you can just say ‘oh, sorry guys, it wasn’t anythin’ personal’ and have us just…what, walk out?”

Gabriel squared what was left of his jaw. “It _wasn’t_ personal.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” McCree roared. “Everythin’ you’ve _done_ has been personal! Abandonin’ _us,_ makin’ us think you’re both _dead._ Then one of you goes into fuckin’ _retirement_ while the other one jumps into bed with the goddamn _enemy?”_

“I explained this back at the base, idiot. I didn’t jump into bed with anyone,” Gabriel sighed, rubbing his temples. “ _But_ , if you would shut _up_ for a second, I can…try to explain.”

“Fat fuckin’ chance,” Jesse grumbled, which earned him a nudge from Genji.

“Cute,” Gabriel said, deadpan. He settled into a folding chair, his legs little more than a cloud of smoke, and steepled his fingers. Genji and McCree watched the macabre display with tense interest.

“I’m sure you want me to start from the beginning,” he muttered. When Genji nodded and McCree snorted like an angry bronco, Gabriel locked eyes with Jack and then turned back to the tabletop.

“Three weeks before the explosion at the Swiss headquarters, we were given intel that there were Talon moles in Overwatch,” he began, looking like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “We didn’t know who or what positions they were in, but we had reason to believe they had imbedded themselves _deep_. Jack didn’t know. He was too busy posing for cameras and preening like a fucking peacock.”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Jack intervened, frowning deeply at him.

“Yeah, yeah, easy Commander,” he said. “Anyway, no one was paying attention. Everyone was too busy shooting for guts and glory to give a shit about what was going on inside. This was right around the time after you left, ingrate. _Great_ timing, by the way.”

McCree curled his lip up at him.

“That article with my ugly mug on the cover was published right around then too. About us. About Blackwatch. Which was funny, considering the timing. People started avoiding me. Avoiding us. Rumors spread that I was _jealous_ of Jackie here making Commander. It made things really _difficult_ when it came to the investigation of how far Talon had sunk its claws. Which, I guess, was the plan. Real comforting to know that a whole organization like that could be blown wide open by rumors and speculation.”

Jack shifted from foot to foot minutely, and McCree felt Genji turn his attention to the motion. There was something there, something unspoken. Guilt. A raw nerve. It made Jack straighten his posture and lock his legs.

“Then the explosion happened. We couldn’t have guessed it would go down that way, even if we _did_ have the means to dig deeper. Whoever it was, they’d set timed charges all over the base. Basement, roof, air ducts. I managed to find _one_ right before the timer ran out. In my room. Under my bed. But it wasn’t armed, so I got it out and made to go take it to the science lab.”

“I saw him with it,” Jack interrupted gruffly. “He ran out with this thing under his arm right when the explosions started going off. So…uh.”

“We _fought_ ,” Gabe filled in for him. “While people evacuated, we were fighting. Scraping each other to bits over falsely-perceived slights and years of power struggles.”

“I thought it was him,” Jack admitted. “I didn’t know what had happened, but I thought that…whatever it was, he’d been behind it.”

“We hadn’t spoken much before that,” Gabriel started again. “Again, those rumors.”

“Skip ahead,” McCree snapped, pulling out a silvery flask and unscrewing the cap. “I ain’t here to hear about your damn squabbles.”

“Still a charmer,” Gabriel said mirthlessly. “Okay. Fine. Skip ahead a week after the rubble stops smoldering. Both of us manage to pull our asses out, partially due to the chemicals in our blood and partially because we’re both just stubborn bastards who don’t know when to quit. I didn’t know Jack had gotten out. I thought I was the only one.”

“I was better off than he was,” Jack said. “I mean… _obviously.”_

“What caused this…this change?” Genji asked, gesturing to him. “If you were both put through the super soldier program, wouldn’t you both have experienced it?”

“ _Jackie-boy_ didn’t get yanked out from under a metal beam by the lovely Dr. Ziegler,” Gabriel said, the skin of his cheeks splitting in a horrifying smile before they mended themselves again. “She blasted me with that staff of hers before I managed to slink off with my tail between my legs.”

“ _Angela_ found you?” Genji asked, turning to McCree. “She…she has never mentioned this.”

“Yeah, seems to be a lot she ain’t mentionin’ these days,” the cowboy grunted.

“Well, my tissues started doing… _this_ after a few months. I’d grow new skin, it’d fall off, and then it’d grow back. Eventually it stopped _falling_ off and started _floating_ off. I don’t know what the hell she’s got in that thing but… _mierda_ it’s something else.”

“I ran too,” Jack said. “No one found me. I avoided them. I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror, much less have _them_ see me. The Commander who failed to protect his men from one of their own and lost everything in the process.”

“I went my way and he went his,” Gabriel said. “I was still dedicated to figuring out how Talon did what they did. How _far_ things had gotten. But then Overwatch disbanded and…well, that put an end to my search. But I was restless. No purpose, nowhere to go. I rebranded myself. Became ‘Reaper’ and started carrying out contracts.”

“I went to Egypt,” Jack said. “I did some digging of my own, found traces of Gabe in his usual haunts _after_ the blast. After a while I had enough evidence to know he was alive somewhere. So I went out to find him.”

“Correction,” Gabe said, raising an eyebrow. “You stole a bunch of shit and _then_ went out to find me.”

“Can’t fight a battle without a weapon,” Jack said. “That’s military 101.”

“…and Talon eventually gave you a contract,” McCree deduced, bringing things back into focus. Gabriel let his eyes slowly trail back over to him.

“It started out small. Break into old Overwatch headquarters and get information. And I almost refused. _Almost._ But then it _hit_ me: what better place to get answers than right out from under them? So I took the job. And the next. And the _next._ And soon they started trusting me. Got me right up there with the big dogs. Well, at least until your little fucking stunt back in New Zealand.”

“We found each other somewhere in between,” Jack said. “And fought. Badly. He damn near killed me. And we probably would have killed _each other_ if it hadn’t been for what he found. He showed it to me while we were both sitting there bloody. All of it – documents spanning back to when we were in our glory days. Talon had plans to eat us from the inside out. That’s when we decided, at first, to call it a truce to take down what really mattered. Then we came together for good. To get our lives back.”

“An’ now things are just hunky-dory, huh?” McCree butted in bitterly. “Two old men swappin’ war stories over tea while fuckin’ up everyone’s lives around them.”

“It was either _him_ or _you,”_ Gabe growled suddenly, launching up from the table. “You wanted me to let them take _you_ instead?”

“How about you don’t let ‘em take _anyone?!”_ McCree shot back.

“That wasn’t in the cards,” Gabriel said. “To kill the snake, you have to cut off its head. Sacrifices have to be made to get close to the enemy.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” McCree hissed. “That’s a fuckin’ cop-out and you know it.”

“Why are you planning to release Akande and Widowmaker?” Genji asked, the epitome of calm amidst the clamor of anger around him.

“I- _what…_ how did you-“

And then a pointed glare at Sombra. The woman just waved with one hand, looking smug as could be.

“Do you ever _stop?_ ”

“I like seeing you get all riled up, Jefe,” she said with a wink. “You’re real dreamy when your veins start popping out of your face like that.”

“Answer the damn question,” McCree pressed. “If you’re so altruistic an’ shit, why break out the guys who are causin’ the damage?”

“You think you guys are the only ones who wanted to see Akande punished?” he asked, leaning back to eye the bottom of his mug. Jack took the signal and, eager to get away from the conversation entirely, returned to the kitchenette to put the kettle back on.

“What does that mean?” Genji asked. “You are not returning him to Talon?”

“I’m returning Widowmaker to Talon,” he said. “ _After_ I bring Akande to my client and get the bounty they paid for him. Then I tell Talon I managed to get their prized sniper back, but Akande was lost in the process and they welcome me back with open arms. And then I can clean up the _mess_ that you left for me with some money to get the job done right.”

McCree sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“But that…there’s no _justice_ in that!” he exclaimed. “He’s _supposed_ to rot in a cell! He’s supposed to know that _Overwatch_ put ‘im there for what he did to us! To _everyone!”_

“The fuck do _you_ know about justice?” Gabriel suddenly snarled. He stood again, slowly, and the clouds of murky vapor at his feet began to waft out and fill the room behind him. Imposing and horrifying all wrapped up in the decaying skin of a man with graying wet hair and sweatpants.

“You think I wanted this?” he began, narrowing his eyes. McCree thought he saw another pair of eyes open on his throat, and then another on his arm, but it had to be a trick of the light. A shadow passing through. "You think I wanted to become _this?_ You don’t know _shit_ about justice, cowboy. You _left_ before you could understand what that word actually _means.”_

“I _left_ when my hero _stopped_ bein’ my hero,” McCree said, squaring his shoulders to meet Gabe’s eyes despite the coldness that was seeping into his bones. “I _left_ when _you_ stopped knowin’ what justice meant. I ain’t the bad guy here, Gabe. _You_ are.”

The smoke dissipated and Gabe’s face softened, if that was possible, into something a little more… _human._ Like the old Gabe. With dark skin and eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Who could command legions of men to run into battle for _honor_ , even when they had to pull some dirty tricks to get it. Not this shade. This shadow. This warped version of the man that dragged McCree up by his bootstraps and made him into a man.

It was quiet again. Jack had turned off the television with an ancient remote and stood to the side, ready to intervene between them if things got too heated again. Genji mirrored his placement on the other side, keeping his eyes on McCree. The cowboy was red in the face, nostrils flaring. The bags under his eyes were pronounced. Dark. Gabriel took it all in, and, just for a moment, the rage-filled man became the rage-filled boy on the other side of an interrogation table. Red in the face. Nostrils flaring. Ready to shoot up the world.

_‘This is your only shot, kid.’_

_‘Join us or it’s jail.’_

_‘And remember…’_

“Duty comes first,” Gabriel said aloud, slowly shaking his head. “That’s the rule, remember? The one unbreakable rule. I told you when I signed you up and I’m telling you now. I’m getting back into Talon. I’m finishing my mission. You can’t stop this.”

McCree eyed Jack and the other man sighed and shook his head.

“Overwatch has been dead for a long time, kid. Now it’s time to fight fire with fire. _This_ is how we get things done. The old way just doesn’t cut it anymore.”

“Yeah. Sure,” McCree snarled, turning and shouldering past him. The older man dropped his tea cup and spilled it into the beige carpeting. Then the cowboy stopped, turned, and waited for Genji to follow. Sombra stayed where she was, her expression unrecognizable.

“You know what? You both really _did_ die in that blast,” McCree said shaking his head. “We lost the _real_ Jack and Gabe when you two crawled outta that wreckage. And I got a duty too. To my team. To my _family._ Just 'cause you two lost sight of that doesn't mean I have. And I ain’t lettin’ this stand. Not for you.”

He opened the door with a heavy slam.

 

 

“See you on the battlefield.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost at the end, guys, bear with me. 
> 
>  
> 
> i have a twitter where i post updates and chatter incessantly about nothing: @heysugarmaddy  
> i have a tumblr where i reblog a lot of mchanzo crap: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com  
> or just buy me a ko-fi: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	32. Proud

Genji followed behind the fuming cowboy all the way down the hallway, even as he forcefully shoved the door open to the stairwell and began descending. His anger billowed off him in waves redder than his serape, and Genji was smart enough to keep his comments to himself until it was safe enough to voice them. With Hanzo, he could poke and prod with sarcasm and humor all he wanted, knowing his older brother’s tells like the back of his hand. But this had been some heavy shit. Some heavy, _heavy_ shit, all laid down at Jesse’s spurred feet at once. Sure, Genji had worked under Gabriel during Blackwatch too, but _nothing_ compared to how he was with Jesse. It had been night and day.

So it was no surprise that Jesse was lost in his own head as he breezed out of the apartment building. Not even the sudden change of matted carpeting to hard stone beneath his boots had been enough to snap him out of it. And since Sombra had decided to hang back instead of joining them, that job would have to rest on Genji’s cyborg shoulders.

“Jesse…I know this is… _difficult_ , but would you mind telling me what the plan is?” he asked, trotting lightly until they were side by side, striding evenly down the wide Dorado street.

The cowboy didn’t answer right away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Genji could see the gears turning under that Stetson of his and tilted his head to watch the ideas formulate.

“For starters,” he eventually rumbled, his voice still tinged with fight-fueled adrenaline, “we call Angie and get to the bottom of this ‘story’ of his. ‘Bout why she never told us any of this shit.”

“She might not have known,” Genji pointed out, always happy to play devil’s advocate. “Gabriel _did_ say that he left as soon as he was hit by the beam of her staff. Perhaps he did not stick around long enough for her to get a full grasp of his situation?”

“An’ she just forgot about it as soon as he went missin’?” McCree asked with a bushy eyebrow raised.

“There must be a reasonable explanation.”

McCree blew a strand of hair out of his face in exasperation with the situation and allowed his steps to slow down from the brutal pace he’d set.

“Step two is we talk t’Pharah and get an ETA on _when_ Akande and Widowmaker are bein’ moved. We get our asses out there and head ‘em off before Gabe decides to set off the fireworks.”

“After getting back-up, surely,” Genji said.

“No time,” McCree shook his head. “By the time they get their act together, Lena drives back out t’pick ‘em up, and they get where we need to go, the deed’ll be done. We’re on our lonesome on this one.”

“Jesse…”

“I know, I know. If’n they manage to get outta Helix custody, shit might get dicey. But we got Lena, too. An’ there’s no sayin’ who Sombra’ll end up helpin’, assumin’ she decides to help anyone at all.”

Genji released a burst of steam from his valves in a makeshift sigh and McCree turned a corner. No, it wasn’t a favorable situation in the slightest. McCree didn’t need Genji to remind him of that. Nothing had been _favorable_ since that fucking bar in Hanamura. The only _good_ part of all of this was that Hanzo was finally _safe._ Out of his mind with grief and recovering, but still _safe._ And McCree wasn’t going to let anything jeopardize that.

Not even the walking corpse of his former commander. And his boyfriend. _God_ that was weird to think.

As they reached the Orca, Lena was hanging out of the cockpit door with a perplexed look on her face, goggles askance. She took one look at McCree and one look at Genji and then back again, before deciding _against_ asking questions and shutting the door. She wouldn’t take off again until McCree gave the signal, so she made herself at home in the main cabin, sitting backwards with her arms crossed to watch the two men move about.

McCree single-mindedly went to the holovid and punched in Angela’s number, tapping the fingertips of his metal hand to drown out the thoughts banging around like superballs in his brain.

She answered on the third ring, her glasses slipping down her nose. She didn’t look at the screen right away, busy scribbling down something on a piece of paper.

“This is Dr. Ziegler,” she said professionally.

“Did you _know_?” McCree asked between gritted teeth. _That_ got Angela’s attention, because she quickly looked at the screen with wide eyes and her lips pressed into a fine line.

“McCree? Jesse, honey, are you-“

“Did you _know_ , Angela?” he asked again. She flinched a little at the way he used her full first name, turning her body so that she faced the holovid entirely.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Jesse,” she said calmly. “Honestly, what has gotten into you? Where _are_ you? Hanzo has been _insufferable_ all day, saying you left before dawn. And is Genji with you?”

“ _Gabe_ , Angie,” McCree clarified. “Did you know about _Gabe?_ About how he’s still _alive_ an’ paradin’ around in some Halloween getup, takin’ contracts for Talon?”

There was dead silence from her end. So much so that Genji stopped nervously sharpening his _katana_ to catch a glimpse at her expression. It was _completely_ different than the one she’d worn during her confession about Hanzo. There was no secret-knowledge hidden behind those eyes, nor was there any guilt in her body language.

She looked about as lost as everyone else felt.

“He’s…he’s alive?” she asked, quiet as a church mouse. Then, louder this time, “He’s _alive?”_

“That’s what I said,” McCree said, his tone clipped. “More or less, anyway. It’s a real dead-guy party over here, Angie. I’m waitin’ for Elvis t’come walkin’ through the door, arm an’ arm with Mondatta.”

“Jesse, slow down,” she begged, rubbing her temples. “I…I need a second to…Gabriel is _alive?_ Gabriel Reyes. _The_ Gabriel Reyes. And you’re saying _he’s_ the Reaper?”

“I saw it myself, Angela,” Genji said at Lena’s shocked gasp from nearby. “He claims that your interference during the explosion at the Swiss headquarters is the key to his survival.”

“So answer the question,” McCree said, though his tone had softened quite a bit. Her expression was obviously getting to him. Even before she gave him a direct answer, he could pretty much guess what it would be.

“No,” she breathed, shaking her head lightly. “No, I…I had no idea.”

“What about Jack?” Jesse asked. “You know he’s still kickin’ around too?”

“Wait, you’re saying… _Jack_ was with him?”

“She doesn’t know, McCree,” Genji said soothingly, standing to place a hand on the cowboy’s shoulder. “Call off your dogs. There is obviously an explanation.”

If she picked up on the fact that she was supposed to offer one, Angela looked too lost in thought to express it. She was chewing on the end of her pencil like it was a piece of jerky, her features tight and pulled. Out of nervousness, or perhaps simply because it had been mentioned, Angela reached blindly over to draw her staff closer to her, hugging it to her chest.

“Angie,” McCree said again. “They’re both _alive_. After all this time. Y’gotta give me _somethin’_ here. I’m goin’ _nuts._ ”

“It…it had to have been side-effects from the super soldier program. There’s no other explanation for how he could have…how they _both_ could have…I thought he was _dead_ , Jesse,” she said, her voice indicating that her mind was _long_ gone. “I never found Jack. No one did. But _Gabriel…_ I found Gabriel. Bloodied and broken, barely conscious. He was burnt and…screaming something about _traitors_ and babbling about bombs _._ I-it was horrible,” she said, resting her cheek against the staff. Delicate fingertips traced its length as she lost herself in the memory.

“I hit him with the strongest blast I could. It wasn’t as effective as it is today – I hadn’t made as many adjustments to the formula. But he quieted down enough for me to signal for the medical unit to come to us to get him moved. But someone else was calling for me…another injury, and oh Jesse…there were so many…I thought it would be safe to leave him. Just for a second.”

“An’ he was gone when you got back?” Jesse asked, leaning against the table. Angela shook her head and finally seemed to come back to herself, though she’d gone teary-eyed as she adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“The part of the building where I found him collapsed before he could be safely recovered,” she explained, leaning her staff beside her once again to fold her arms over her chest. “The wreckage was…significant. There were many bodies that were so badly damaged that they could not accurately be identified after they had been extricated. We all assumed… _I_ assumed that Jack and Gabriel were amongst them. To keep everyone’s suffering to a minimum, we closed the case and declared them both dead. It…it provided closure where there otherwise _was_ none.”

The cabin was quiet again as the three teammates processed what Angela had said. The doctor was still shaking her head. She hadn’t really stopped since she’d begun speaking, as if battling with herself on the inside. When she finally spoke again, it became clear that that was pretty close to the truth.

“I never forgave myself for turning my back on him,” she said. “And I never told anyone that I had even seen him. What good would it have done besides add more grief? If anyone had come to the conclusion that there had been a _chance_ that he could have been saved…that _I_ could have saved him and failed…And then when it came out that _he_ was being blamed for the entire disaster and the deaths of all those people…”

“You did not fail, Dr. Ziegler,” Genji said. “If what you have said is true, you could not have known that things would turn out the way that they did.”

“Yeah, y’had no way of predictin’ that he’d turn into some angry gothic meat pile,” Jesse grumbled. “Hell, I’ve seen some shit an’ there’s no _way_ woulda seen that comin’.”

“And Jack?”

“Jack’s better off,” he said. “Blind as all hell, but just as much of a stubborn _fuck_ as he was back then.”

“Tell me where you are,” she commanded suddenly, leaning closer to the holovid. “I need to see them. _Both_ of them.”

“Oh, you can bet I will, darlin’,” McCree said, scratching the back of his head. “ _Juuuust_ as soon as I take care of one lil’ fly in the ointment.”

“This is non-negotiable, Jesse!” she demanded, poking the screen with a finger. “There are many, _many_ people that will be affected by this news! You cannot simply expect me to keep it to myself. They are...were… _are_ our teammates!”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m expectin’ you to do, Angie,” he said, tipping his hat back. Tellin’ everyone an’ gettin’ their panties in a twist over this ain’t gonna do shit but rile ‘em all up. I swear as soon as I get a better handle on what I’ve got brewin’ over here, I’ll give the all clear. I know what I’m doin’.”

“ _Jesse James McCree_.”

“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t happy about none of this either, trust me. If I had my way, I’d be draggin’ both of their sorry asses back with me so they’d have to stare down Reinhardt and Torb an’ get their butts handed to ‘em. But it ain’t in the cards right this second. Just…don’t tell Winston, okay? This don’t need to include nobody else but Genji, Lena an’ yours truly. An’ _especially_ not Hanzo.”

“ _That_ I cannot promise, Jesse McCree,” she replied, clearly aggravated by his cavalier attitude. But she sighed resignedly and shook her head. What choice did she have? “You _will_ tell me where Gabriel and Jack are _after_ your business has concluded.”

“Cross my heart an’ hope t’die,” Jesse said, making the necessary motions. Angela didn’t look amused.

“Word to the wise, Jesse, I would definitely invest in a cup to protect your genitals before you come back here,” she said with a brow raised. “Hanzo is _not_ pleased with you.”

“He doin’ all right?”

“As good as can be expected,” she said, happy for a change of subject. “His most recent test came back with some odd swelling that I am going to keep my eye on, but otherwise he is making progress.”

“Tell him I love him, wouldja?” he asked, smiling apologetically. “An’ that I’m almost done?”

“And risk his wraith once he knew I spoke with you and did not tell him? I am not _suicidal_ ,” she said with a light laugh. “Just…hurry up, would you? And try not to hurt Gabriel and Jack. They have a lot of explaining to do. And a lot of catching up, as well.”

“Will do, Doc. Take care of my dragon for me.”

“Will do,” she sighed heavily, before the screen went blank.

“You really were telling the truth?” Lena asked, sitting up straight. “Jack and Gabe…”

“’fraid so,” McCree said grimly. “And plannin’ on bustin’ Doomfist and his lil’ girlfriend out before they make it back to Helix.”

“But… _why?_ ”

“It is a long story,” Genji said, going back to his _katana_. “One that can be told _after_ we finish our task.”

“We going to stop them?” she asked curiously, bouncing a little in her seat. “You got a plan?”

“Head ‘em off at the pass like a couple of cattle rustlers,” McCree said, spinning Peacekeeper around on his finger for dramatic effect. Lena just pulled a face and stood, making her way back to the pilot’s seat.

“Just tell me where we’re going, cowboy,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Get Fareeha on the horn, wouldja dumplin’?” he asked, batting his eyelashes. “Gonna play a lil’ game of twenty questions to see _exactly_ where our lil’ friends are headin’ off to.” 

“And then?”                                                                                                                             

“ _Then_ ,” he said, lighting another cigar that he’d roughly jabbed between his lips, “we cheat the Reaper.”

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, the trade-off was going to happen the second they landed over the African continent. Helix, having been bludgeoned with paperwork and incessant pestering by the national press, had made the decision to keep the criminals housed in one of their private bunkers until the heat died down. By the time Fareeha _finally_ caved and told McCree what he’d needed to know, the security caravan was crossing through the Middle East on their way to Egypt. The drop would occur there, where Helix presence was the greatest, and then they would be taken back to the maximum-security prison – Doomfist back to his cell, and Widowmaker to an on-base research facility.

Without the UN jets flanking them everywhere they went, the Orca made good time crossing over the Atlantic. McCree had no idea how Gabe was going to even get there without Talon assistance, but knowing his former mentor’s penchant for surprises, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. Plus the idea that Jack was with him just threw another wrench in the works. A man with his kind of reputation should not have been able to avoid detection as well as he had, even with the world thinking he was dead. It had the cowboy questioning his resources, amongst other things.

Lena landed near Alexandria at a military airstrip. There wasn’t much left there after the Omnic Crisis, like most places, but the country as a whole had managed to pick itself up, dust itself off, and make the best of what was left. Thanks, in no small part, to Helix’s overwhelming presence. The funding that came from the United Nations did wonders, aiding efforts to rebuild and repopulate.

Although reluctant to start offering credentials, once the Overwatch team showed their badges to the officials at the base, they were given free range. Being treated like heroes and less like criminals felt nice, for once, and Jesse almost wished the rest of the team could be there to relive a taste of the glory days.

But this wasn’t a pleasure cruise. They had work to do.

Cairo seemed to be the prime target for whatever Gabriel was planning. It was much more crowded than any of the other cities; easier to lose track of something. Or some _one._ Too many civilians for Helix to begin firing off at one assailant. Plus, with the task of safeguarding the Temple of Anubis already keeping them busy, should anything occur, they would have to decide whether to abandon their posts or not. Blackwatch lesson number two – any amount of hesitation from your enemy was an opening. Gabe had taught him that.

“ _How long do you think we shall have to wait?”_ Genji asked softly, perched behind a wind-blown statue of Horus that sat along one of the main roads.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” McCree answered into his comm from the other side of the street, higher so that he could overlook the various comings and goings. Peacekeeper sat heavy in his hand – heavier than he was used to. The anticipation of eventually having to face off against Gabriel made him tense. No matter what he did, no matter how much he reasoned with himself that this was the _monster_ that had forced Hanzo into agony, he couldn’t stop seeing Gabe’s visage smiling down at him. Or feel his hand ruffling his hair. Or smell his cheap cigarette smoke blowing out the side of a helicopter on their way to a mission.

Why was this so _hard?_

“Just stay frosty,” McCree eventually sighed, unable to think of anything else useful to say while his thoughts were in such a jumble. He immediately bit down on his tongue when the words sounded too close to something a younger Gabriel would say. He shook his head. _Focus, Jesse._

_“All clear over here, luvs_ ,” Tracer chimed in, giving Jesse a tentative wave from the nearby rooftop. He tipped his hat at her and trained his ears to the ambience of the city. It was the middle of the day – hot and humid, but not enough to keep people from milling about. Occasionally Jesse would spot the telltale blue suit of a Helix agent coasting above the heads of the men and women viewing the sights. They seemed to be out in full-force today, sensing the imminent danger that was heading in their direction. Jesse guessed Fareeha had tipped them off, which wasn’t all that terrible, but didn’t seem to lend any confidence.

Especially when the loud hum of engines began to growl their way down the dust-covered road to the East.

Tracer’s hand came up to signal the other two, her eyes trained to the approaching vehicles as they kicked up a cloud behind them. Jesse’s eyes were instead focused anywhere _but_ where she was looking – the rooftops, the darkened alleyways. Behind parked cars, amidst the crowds of people. Any dark swatch of fabric wafting in the sweltering breeze earned his attention, but none proved fruitful. McCree decided to wait for Genji – the ninja would no doubt pick up on something far faster than anyone else could, even with the myriad of distractions.

Tracer’s signal came down once the vehicles stopped.

There were six of them, all armor-plated and intimidating as they settled behind on another. They resembled tanks in their design – squared edges sitting atop rolling tracks, emblazoned with the Helix logo on all sides. Veritable rolling fortresses, designed to keep some dangers _in_ and the rest _out._

_“Another vehicle approaching,”_ Genji suddenly alerted. McCree’s eyes shifted to the opposite direction – a black jeep was coming to meet the group. Probably the Helix agents that were set to take over for the ones now in control of the convoy. Standard procedure – it was easier to replace the crew than move the cargo. So far, nothing to be alarmed about.

The jeep came to a halt before the lead vehicle, five or six Helix agents dressed in blue combat gear exiting. The operators of the convoy then exited as well, and together both parties shook hands and offered stiff greetings. McCree kept his gaze sharp, scanning the area. Still nothing.

Until the blast from a pulse rifle slammed into the third vehicle.

It rocked sideways and then settled back with a crash onto its tracks, a burning crater dented into its side. As smoke rose into the air, the Helix agents scattered like roaches, grasping at various weaponry while barking rushed orders at each other.

_“Where’d it come from?!”_ Tracer barked, blipping from roof to roof. _“Anyone see?!”_

_“Negative,”_ Genji said, unsheathing his katana to roll to the ground. Then another strike – this time at the first car, knocking the track undone with a clang and a blast of metal. Genji rolled again and leapt upwards unto the roof of the second car, scanning quickly for the assailant.

A glint from behind a statue at the other end of the convoy was the only indication to McCree that anyone was there. And no, it wasn’t Reaper – it was _Jack_ , hoisting a huge pulse rifle under his arm as he stepped out. He popped off a few more shots, this time at Genji directly, causing the ninja to abandon his position in favor of ducking for cover.

McCree wasted no time – he fanned Peacekeeper’s hammer as he stood upright and moved forward, causing the bullets to split the ground at Jack’s feet. The soldier growled and hopped to the side almost comedically, pressing his back to the building nearby. It was just enough time for the Helix agents to regroup and enough to McCree to reload.

But this was a distraction – Jesse knew that. Jack’s shots weren’t aimed to take anyone out in particular. They had no way of knowing _which_ car held Akande and which held Widowmaker. Gabe and Jack wouldn’t risk destroying them completely if it meant risking their targets.

_“Jesse, Reaper at Jack’s nine!”_ Tracer shouted, firing her pistol to keep the soldier from collecting himself. Jesse’s eyes narrowed to where she’d directed him, and sure enough, there was the coiled form of Gabriel himself, both shotguns positioned in front of him.

And they were pointed at Jesse.

Time slowed to a halt.

It would have been so easy. He’d obviously been there long enough to get the cowboy in his sights. Those shotguns were unwavering, and Jesse was well-within his range. How long had he been ready to strike him down? What was keeping him? One well-timed shot to the head and Jesse would be down for the count. Their plan would go off without a hitch. Akande and Widowmaker would be free, and Gabe could run back to Talon like the conquering hero.

Jesse could already feel the cold steel between his eyes. His blood was thrumming louder than the shouts and carnage happening on the ground. Nothing sounded off louder than his pulse. This was it. He was dead. Even after all these years, Gabriel still managed to have the upper hand. He still managed to know _more_.

They locked eyes – panicked amber meeting coal black. Jesse couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking. What was taking him so long? Just squeeze the trigger already. _Duty first._

But he didn’t.

The shotguns lowered.

And Jesse felt breath flood his lungs again. And sound began to pound his ears – Genji and Tracer shouting into his comm, trying to get his attention. He hadn’t heard them. Still wasn’t sure he _was_ hearing them. He was still staring down Reaper and vice-versa, both attempting to guess what the other was thinking.

His attention snapped to the convoy. A door in the third car was being hurriedly slid open by several barking agents. Akande was being shoved out, head held down, hands bound by the wrists, dressed in a baggy yellow prison uniform. Widowmaker was shoved out the back and forced forward as well with a hand to the back of her neck. An emergency evacuation.

And Reaper was _allowing_ it.

He could hear a growled question from Jack thrown at Gabriel, but by the time Jesse’s eyes flicked from one to the other, Reaper was gone from his crouched spot.

And was now right in front of McCree.

Gabe struck an imposing figure. He always had, even when shrouded by the billowy black cloak and the jarring white mask. Jesse took a hesitant step back and raised Peacekeeper again, keeping the weapon between he and the potential enemy wraith in front of him.

But Reaper wasn’t looking at him.

Instead, his masked face was watching as his targets – his supposed _teammates_ – were being corralled into the fifth car. Akande seemed to sense their presence above him. His almost regal countenance trailed upwards until he spotted them.

And he _smiled._

But the armored vehicle was soon being sped off like a bat out of hell away from the wreckage, flanked on either side by running Helix agents intent on keeping it going. Reaper made no motion to attack it. Jack, obviously frustrated, shot out a few more sporadic pulse shots. They did nothing but blow up a cloud of dust, bathing the cowering civilians in a sea of pebbles.

“You…you let ‘em go,” McCree said, his voice sounding more hushed than he’d intended. Reaper didn’t acknowledge him. Those coal black holes for eyes just casually watched as his meal ticket slid off towards the horizon. It was a long, long moment before Jesse could speak again.

“You… _why?_ ” Jesse asked, lowering Peacekeeper like it was a heavy boulder attached to his wrist. “The plan… _your_ plan…”

“Mm,” Gabriel hummed, only half-hearing him. In the background, Jesse could hear Jack snarling into his comm, probably hissing out angry questions until Gabe slipped the comm from his ear and crushed it under his boot. Then it was quiet again. Until Tracer and Genji made it over to him, it’d stay that way.

“Everyone is always going to do what benefits them the most,” Gabe finally said, sliding the white mask from his face with clawed fingers. His skin roiled like bubbling mud, making Jesse wince even though it was hardly the first time he’d seen it. The wraith chuckled and shook his head, looking into the white face that had once covered his own.

“Looks like you were right after all, kid. I don’t believe that as much as I tried to convince myself I did. Couldn’t even shoot a dumb cowboy.”

He looked up at the sky and let the sun bathe his face. For a second, all the pieces fell into place. Gabe was _Gabe_ again, and Jesse was standing in the presence of a great man. A man that he’d follow to hell and back. A man who didn’t give up on his principles for anything.

“What about Talon?” Jesse asked, stepping forward. “Akande saw you. They ain’t gonna let you back now.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Gabe said vaguely. “I’ll…I’ll figure something out.”

There was an exhaustion to his voice that Jesse hadn’t heard before. It was the sound of bone-deep weariness; something so inescapable and heavy that Jesse could almost see it sitting on the other man’s shoulders like a gargoyle. When Gabe finally turned to look at him for the first time, the cowboy could see it in his eyes. It swallowed any and all of Jesse’s anger like a black hole, leaving him with nothing but _pity._

Gabe seemed to sense it, too, because he offered Jesse a barely-there smile. One of those rare, fleeting expressions that Jesse had kept so close to his heart all those years ago. Now it was just bittersweet.

“Wish it could have been different,” he sighed.

“It still can be,” Jesse said. He put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder and squeezed it once he was sure it would stay corporeal. “Come back with us, Gabe. We can help. _Angela_ said she could-“

“That life is over, mijo.”

_Mijo._ God, McCree had never snatched his hand back faster in his life. The term of endearment pierced him between his ribs, made him feel warm and freezing all at the same time. _Mijo._

He felt the tears slipping down his cheeks. Gabe pulled him into an embrace, careful of his claws. There was no smell of decay this time. No wisp of darkness enveloping him. Jesse clutched at the man that had been the only father he’d ever known. The man that had formed him into the man that he was. Cheap cigarette smoke and stability. The man who was _alive_ and breathing; back from the edge of existence after all this time.

No longer a villain.

Only Boss _._ Jefe. _Gabriel._

“Take care of them, kid,” the rumbling voice said near his ear. “You have no idea how easily things could slip if you’re not paying attention.”

“Come _back_ with us,” Jesse almost begged. “I’ll help! We can figure somethin’ out. We can fix whatever-“

“I told you,” Gabe said, stepping out of his grip finally. He appraised Jesse with wet eyes of his own before sliding the mask back on. Jesse straightened, wiped his eyes, removing his hat to run his fingers through his hair. When Gabe spoke again, it wasn’t in the lazy cadence of the man Jesse knew. It was the deep rasp of the wraith he had become.

“There’s nothing to fix. Nothing to help. Things are better this way. Someone’s always gotta play the monster.”

“It don’t have to be _you_ ,” Jesse growled.

“Yes, it does,” Reaper said assuredly. “Yes, it does. That’s just how the dice rolled.”

_Or how the train roared. Or the river flowed. Life. Fate. Inevitability._

Tracer was almost there. Jesse could hear her sporadic footfalls as she clipped the roofs to get to him. Genji was climbing, too. He was nearly silent but fast moving, like a piece of paper floating on a breeze. Both he and Reaper sensed it. This precious time together was coming to a close.

“See you around, mijo,” he said, patting Jesse on the shoulder. Then, after a moment. “I’m proud of you.”

And then he was gone. Like he’d never been there in the first place.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What the _fuck_ , Gabe!?” Jack snarled when the man finally materialized. He was furious, deep brows furrowed and fists shaking. The pulse rifle was still heavy under his arm. Gabe was too lost in thought to notice.

“You let them get away!” Jack continued, trailing behind Gabe as the man made his way back to their mode of escape – a beat up old truck that Jack had stolen at the city border. “The hell are we going to do now? We’ve got no money, no means for you to get back in with Talon-“

“And I didn’t even get to have any _fun_ ,” Sombra groused from the back seat. She was pouting extraordinarily hard, arms folded and fingers tapping. Jack snapped his neck at her, having almost completely forgotten that she was there.

“Jackie…” Gabe interrupted, settling into the passenger seat. He sighed heavily and shook his head, refusing to look the other man in the face. “Just. Get in. We gotta talk.”

“Yeah, we _do,_ ” Jack agreed, sliding into the drivers’ seat after tossing the rifle in the trunk.  

“Not about this,” Gabe said, folding his arms.

“ _Oooh-_ “ Sombra said, covering her mouth with interest. “Fight, fight, fight!”

“Shut _up_ , Sombra,” Gabriel growled.

“You must be out of your mind,” Jack growled, putting the car in drive. “What _else_ could there be to talk about?”

“…about you. Going back to Overwatch.”

There was silence in the car. As expected, Sombra was the first to speak, amusement oozing out of every pore.

“…and _boom_ goes the dynamite.”

 

 

The ride back to Gibraltar fluctuated between celebratory and quiet. Jesse, for once, was the quieter one of the group, even when Lena had convinced Genji to participate in a makeshift karaoke session. It was _relieving_. Sure, Reaper was still out there with Jack, and they still hadn’t really made their true intentions known, but Jesse had been adamant that they weren’t anything to worry about.

For the first time in _months_ , Overwatch had nothing on their plates. No impending doom, no conflict to resolve. Akande Ogundimu, The Successor, was back behind bars. Widowmaker, the Spider, was with him, locked away without a rifle to call her own. Hope for her was in the back of everyone’s mind. If Hanzo could be helped, maybe she could be too. Amelie LaCroix could become a person again. Maybe.

But that just brought the cowboy’s thoughts back to the man waiting for him back in Vienna.

Hanzo. It was time to be with Hanzo.

Of course, things could never be as easy as that.

The crew of the Orca landed to a sea of chaos at the hospital. Security agents were running around with walkie-talkies, nurses were moving from station to station. The atmosphere was to be _expected_ amongst a busy hospital, that was for sure, but what really stuck out to McCree was the fact that there was only one name on everyone’s lips.

_Shimada._

Great.

Angela found them first. She was out of breath and clutching a clipboard tightly, eyes lighting up when the sound of spurs finally reached her ears. Jesse rushed forward, grabbing her shoulders as gently as her could despite the panic sinking into his bones.

“Is he okay?” he asked quickly. “Is Hanzo _okay_?”

“He’s _missing_!” she hissed, shaking her head. “I went to check on him earlier…he’s just _gone._ ”

Jesse didn’t waste time. He turned heel and rushed down the hall with Genji in tow, a hand on each side of the doorframe. Sure enough, there was no sign of Hanzo. The bed was empty. The television was turned off. The IVs that had been embedded in his arm were neatly hanging next to the silent medical equipment.

That made him pause. Neatly hanging?

Jesse took another step in. There was no sign of struggle. No clothes or bedsheets flung haphazardly to the side. Instead, everything had been neatly folded. Even Hanzo’s hospital gown.

And his prosthetics were gone.

Jesse felt his heartbeat begin to slow; his panic began to lessen. On a hunch, he slipped to the couch where he’d left the remnants of his things – his sweat clothes and a duffel bag filled with useless equipment that he wouldn’t need until he returned. And, on that same hunch, he reached into the side pocket and felt around.

No baggie of loose tobacco. No rolling papers.

Jesse sighed heavily and smiled at Genji, who had his head cocked quizzically in his direction.

“I know where he is,” the cowboy said with a relieved laugh. Genji just looked even more confused as the cowboy clapped him on the shoulder. But with a flick of the eyes to the bag and then a flick back to the gunslinger’s retreating back, the cyborg could only shake his head.

He was surrounded by fools.

  

* * *

 

 

It only took Jesse a few minutes to get to the stairs, and only a few minutes more to step out onto the roof. Unlike the one back at Gibraltar, there were no seabirds flocking towards the bottom of a cliffside, nor was there the sound of crashing waves in the distance. But, just like that time at Gibraltar, storm clouds were brewing off in the distance.

And there was Hanzo.

He was scrunched up _so_ tightly by the edge, his makeshift legs bunched into his chest as he watched the people meandering around below and took heavy drags off a shoddily-rolled cigarette. He’d managed to put on his _kyudo-gi_ , although barely, and Jesse could see him absent-mindedly running his fingertips over his new scars. As if committing them to memory.

“Y’know you shouldn’t be up here,” Jesse said.

Hanzo startled and whipped around, his loose hair catching the wind and blowing, black as pitch. _God_ , he was beautiful. Even weak and sad and _lost_ looking like he was, Hanzo would always manage to be beautiful.

The archer wobbled to his feet, having a hard time finding balance, and Jesse took a few hurried steps towards him should he fall. But Hanzo had a look of _determination_ on his face. It pinned the cowboy in place as the archer finally steadied himself, feet spread in that warrior’s stance, and began to cautiously step. Each motion was calculated, from the flick of his cigarette to his slow gait. Jesse didn’t speak again until his archer was close, but instead let out a low whistle.

“Hell, that was good!” he said, holding open his arms. “Shit, Angie said you’d need some kinda therapy, but at this rate-“

_Slap!_

Jesse was suddenly facing to the side. And his cheek _stung._ And Hanzo was _glaring_ at him with the passion of a thousand suns, shaking where he stood. He was angry. _Furious._ And Jesse was about to apologize – the words were on the tip of his tongue –

But then Hanzo was hugging him. _Tightly_. Face buried in his serape and using McCree to balance himself. The cowboy’s strong arms wrapped around him then, the pain of his cheek already forgotten. He deserved it anyway.

“You _left,_ ” Hanzo hissed, his grip tightening.

“But I’m back now,” Jesse offered. Hanzo grunted into the cloth and just nuzzled in deeper. And McCree buried his face into the smell of his hair.

“You will not leave again,” Hanzo murmured, halfway between a command and a beg. Jesse couldn’t help but laugh a little, especially when Hanzo lifted his head and gave him an expression similar to that of a grumpy kitten.

“Nah, babycakes. Don’t reckon I will.”

_That_ got a relieved sigh from the archer, who relaxed in McCree’s grip.

“How’d you even get up here without anyone seein’ you? Y’got Angie losin’ her damn mind down there,” he asked with a smirk.

“I climbed from the window,” Hanzo said matter-of-factly, his voice still muffled by Jesse’s serape. The cowboy sputtered and used the grip on his shoulders to bring him backwards.

“ _Hanzo_ …”

“I could not be in that room any longer,” Hanzo scowled. “I heard the thunder and…I wanted to wait for you here.”

“But I might not have been back for _days_ , Han,” Jesse laughed, tipping his chin up.

“Then I would have waited for days,” came Hanzo’s easy reply. He was blushing now – his ears had turned a shade pink. Jesse couldn’t help but draw him in again. Hug him close. Revel in the feeling of Hanzo taking a deep breath and relaxing deeper. Soothed by each other’s presence.

“Did you finish your business?” Hanzo eventually asked.

“Y’mean did my business get finished with me,” McCree said. “But yeah. All done. I think, anyway.”

“...good.”

Jesse helped Hanzo sit back at the ledge with a sturdy hand at his back. He traced soothing circles beneath the cloth while his other hand held a lighter up to Hanzo’s cigarette. Fuck what the doctor said. They both deserved a good smoke, a good sit, and to watch the clouds roll by. They could worry about their general health later. Angie and the others could wait. The _world_ could wait.

McCree tilted his head when he heard the door to the roof click open, and barely acknowledged Genji as he quietly crept out and slid to a seat beside them. Hanzo didn’t even lift his head – one hand slid out to take his brother’s. Genji squeezed back, but said nothing. He didn’t need to.

None of them needed to.

Despite the hustle and bustle in the building below them and the sound of cars honking along the busy Vienna streets, the small, odd little family they created sat contently, watching the rain engulf the buildings. Eventually, Hanzo lifted his head and pressed his lips to McCree’s jaw. And the cowboy let his eyes shut. And eventually Hanzo did too.

To let the rain flow over the three of them.

Even soaked to the bone and breathing smoke, it felt more like home than anywhere had felt in ages.

Warm drops of water mingling with harsh grey clouds.

A cowboy and an archer.

A river and a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! <3
> 
> Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for joining me on this angsty journey. your support has been amazing. 
> 
> and don't worry! there will be a short epilogue forthcoming. so any loose ends you see will (probably) be dealt with. maybe. 
> 
> (there might ALSO be a sequel eventually. but not for a long, long while.) 
> 
>  
> 
> i have a twitter where I post occasional updates and incessant chatter: @heysugarmaddy  
> and a tumblr where i do pretty much the same: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com  
> or you can buy me a ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy


	33. Epilogue

A lot can happen in the span of four months.

If anyone knew the truth to those words, it was the team at the Watchpoint. Six months ago, a beloved member had been stolen out from under their very noses, whisked away and transformed into a remorseless killer and then forced to fight those who vowed to protect him. Five months ago, they’d been wanted criminals, chased from here to kingdom come by fighter jets, terrorists, and the national media. Four months ago, they’d gotten him back. _Jesse_ had gotten him back.

Since then, the road to progress had been steep and uphill for Hanzo. It had taken weeks of constant testing and physical therapy for it to even be _considered_ that he be sent home. There had been more tears – too many to count by anyone’s standards, lots of late nights, early mornings, sore muscles and tired faces. Long spans of frustration followed by sharp relief, only for the cycle to repeat itself.

By the end of the sixth week, Hanzo had been allowed to _tentatively_ return to the Watchpoint. And even then, there was still work to be done.

They couldn’t remove the nanites in his brain. Angela and her uncle poured over case studies and medical journals, hoping for an answer to poke up through the text like Excalibur. Hanzo’s case set precedence for a whole new chapter in micro-robotics. Except for Widowmaker, there were no recorded cases of mind alteration due to nanite technology or its reversal, probably due to its moral implications. While that was probably a good thing moving forward, it meant that they were, for all intents and purposes, shit out of luck.

The good news was that Hanzo didn’t seem to be having too many complications, aside from some swelling that came and went, some lingering pain in his muscles, some persistent headaches and a grouchier-than-normal disposition. And, with Jesse and Genji’s help, he’d managed to overcome several hurdles when it came to accepting what he’d done, his physical therapy, and his overall well-being. Ultimately, since they had no answers and there didn’t seem to be any forthcoming, it was decided that Hanzo was doing as well as he could be, given the circumstances.

But combat was out of the question.

Not forever, of course, but even the _possibility_ of downtime had Hanzo practically banging his head against the wall. There were only so many video games Hana could teach him and only so much cleaning a person could do. Athena was even under strict instructions to deny him entry to the shooting range unless he had supervision. Jesse was happy to oblige, but had the habit of cutting the archer off after an hour or so, which was not nearly enough. Hanzo was strung-out, stressed out, and achy.

So it was hardly a surprise when Jesse slid a vacation request across Winston’s desk one balmy afternoon.

“Santa Fe?” Winston asked, tipping his glasses down to eye the cowboy over them. “Isn’t that cutting it a little close?”

“Deadlock’s not what it used t’be,” Jesse shrugged. “An’ I been quiet long enough to slip under the radar. Got a couple’a buddies out there that’ll hook me an’ Hanzo up with a cabin.”

Winston raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re bringing Hanzo along? Do you think that’s wise?”

Jesse opened his mouth to answer, but a crashing sound from the kitchen above them shook through the ceiling. Two distinct and clearly Japanese voices, muffled through thick layers of drywall and metal sheeting, argued back and forth. The fluorescent lights even flickered from the force of it all, signaling a truly epic battle of the Shimadas.

Jesse spared Winston a flat look.

“Winston ol’ pal, it’s damn _necessary_ at this point.”

The ape couldn’t help but nod as his eyes remained trained to the ceiling.

“…are you sure a week will be long enough? I could _easily_ sign off on two…maybe three?”

Another crash from upstairs and a long series of curses. Sounded like someone was investing in another rice cooker. Since Hanzo had been back, it was the third one they’d gone through.

“A week should be plenty, I reckon,” Jesse snorted. “Han’s just gotta remember what it’s like t’be a person again. He ain’t had that luxury in a long, _long_ time.”

“Does he know about this excursion yet?”

McCree shook his head. “Figured a surprise might be in order. I’m thinkin’ if he knew, he’d come up with some excuse about havin’ too much to do. But he’ll appreciate it, mark my words.”

“As will we _all_ , I’m sure,” Winston smirked. He quickly flicked a pen over the dotted line with his signature and slid it back to the cowboy. “Just try and stay out of trouble. I’m starting to like the whole ‘business as usual’ thing we have going.”

“Saw an Overwatch t-shirt in town the other day,” McCree commented offhandedly, smirking. “An’ Genj said they’ve started sellin’ action figures online outta Japan.”

“You’re kidding,” Winston gasped. “A few months go by and we go from possible felons to collectibles? Don’t get me wrong – I love this planet. But I really, _really_ don’t understand it sometimes.”

“I’ll remember you said that when I come back an’ see yer shelves covered in the things,” Jesse laughed. “But thanks for the sign-off, Wins. I’m sure Han’ll appreciate it too. Eventually.”

_“ **Winston? I apologize for the interruption…”**_

“It’s fine, Athena,” Winston said with a wave of his hand. “Is it already time for that security patch?”

**_“Actually…it appears there is someone at the front gate.”_ **

“Any clue who it is?” McCree asked this time, his hand already moving to Peacekeeper out of habit.

**_“He identifies as Soldier 76,”_** she answered plainly, though even her computerized voice seemed uneasy. **_“However, facial recognition has…”_**

“Morrison,” McCree interrupted, locking eyes with Winston before rushing from the room. The ape’s expression changed several times in the span of a few seconds, but he then removed his glasses and ran a hand over his eyes.

“So much for business as usual…” he muttered begrudgingly before loping off after the cowboy.

 

* * *

 

 

A crowd had gathered around Jack by the time Jesse and Winston made it out. Reinhardt was crying loudly and exaggeratedly, big fat teardrops crawling down his bearded face. From the way Jack was rubbing his arms, he’d already been victim of one of Reinhardt’s patented bear hugs and probably had a few bruised ribs to boot. Torbjorn was gruffly trying to maintain his composure, but it was obvious he was just as shaken as he rubbed the underside of his eye with his claw.

Fareeha was standing towards the back with her arms folded. Winston took a spot beside her, more content to watch rather than participate. Hana, Lucio, and Hanzo stood awkwardly off to the side as well, exchanging curious looks and watching the events unfold. Genji was somewhere in the middle of everyone, his arms hanging at his sides and his head cocked in a display of easy-going curiosity.

Jesse pushed his way through the little crowd with a gentle nudge of his shoulders just as Angela pulled Jack into an emotional embrace. Jack and Jesse’s eyes met, a silent acknowledgement passed between them, before he turned his expression back to the doctor with her arms around him.

“You look well,” she said softly, her eyes a bit wet. “Oh…your visor…”

“Got into a scuffle before I got here,” Jack explained, running his fingertips over the long chip in the plastic. “But…thanks. You look good too, Angela. Haven’t aged a day, as expected.”

“People who come back from th’dead don’t get t’comment on the agin’ process, old man,” Jesse suddenly commented, drawing everyone’s attention. Jack’s expression flattened out and his mouth formed a tight line as he stepped back away from Angela and straightened his back – a Commander now and forever. Everyone else just looked at each other and shifted uncomfortably as the two men stared daggers at each other.

“McCree,” Jack said gruffly. Jesse could almost _hear_ the “kid” waiting to bubble from his lips instead, but considering McCree was nearly forty, he was glad he’d decided against it.

“He with you?” McCree asked. Angela’s face filled with concern. But Jack slowly shook his head and adjusted his duffel bag more securely on his shoulder.

“Then _where_?” Jesse asked, his face coloring slightly from withheld emotion. Hanzo immediately moved forward to wrap his arms around him from behind, narrowed eyes fixed on Jack. He had never met this man in person, but knew enough not to trust him.

Jesse took a deep breath and brought a hand up to rest on Hanzo’s. The vitriol seeped out of him all at once. Hanzo was good like that.

“I don’t know,” Jack said, tilting up his chin, almost defiantly. “Gabriel does what he wants. You know that as well as I do.”

“Not buyin’ that for a second-“ Jesse started, though he was quelled by a large hand on his head. Reinhardt gave him the sort of look a stern father would to quiet their unruly child. It did the trick – Jesse snorted, but buttoned his lip.

“There is much that must be discussed,” Reinhardt said, at roughly _half_ of his normal volume. “And many answers that I am sure Jack is willing to offer us. But, for now, we must be happy that our Commander has returned to us.”

Winston looked dreadfully uncomfortable all of a sudden. Fareeha put a hand on his shoulder and he smiled weakly, but everyone who noticed knew right away what the implications of that statement meant.

Thankfully, Jack was quick to remedy the situation.

“I’m not here as a Commander,” he said. “Not even sure if joining Overwatch is what I want either.”

“Whatever the reason, then,” Reinhardt said, looking around to the crowd with a hopeful face. “We are all thankful that such a miracle has taken place. Jack Morrison, in the flesh, after all these years!”

“Here, here!” Torbjorn agreed, clacking his claw and smiling. Everyone else but Jesse, Fareeha, Hanzo and Winston tried to smile along with them. Jack and Jesse maintained eye contact until Lucio bounded up to the older man to gush over how cool his visor looked.

However, Winston, always being the professional despite everything, walked up and cleared his throat, forcing his teeth to bare in an uneasy smile.

“Welcome to Gibraltar, Jack. I’m sure it’s been quite a journey. I’ll have a room set up for you. In the meantime, could you follow me? Some things have changed and I believe a tour is in order.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Jack said. “No one needs to go out of their way or anything.”

“It’s no trouble,” Winston continued, striving to be a good host. “It would actually mean _less_ work for me in the long run, since I’m hoping to have you fill out some paperwork and get you briefed on how things are around here now.”

“Yep, standard protocol,” Jack said. “At least _that_ much hasn’t changed.”

“At least,” Winston said, looking strained. The second he turned he let his smile drop. Jesse made a mental note to corral him later to dissuade his discomfort. Hanzo had slowly released him from his arms to step around to his side, where Jesse easily slid an arm around his shoulders.

Jack stopped before them as he followed the ape into the building.

“We’ll talk,” he said to Jesse. “Later. Alone.”

Jesse said nothing, and Jack brushed past them. For the ones that knew him, it was like seeing a ghost for the first time. For the ones who didn’t, they relied on reputation and rumor to color their expectations. For Jesse, this was a man who helped propagate a decade old lie. He’d done his best to forgive Gabriel for it. Jack had yet to _apologize._

“I am not sure it is wise that you speak with him by yourself, Jesse,” Hanzo said under his breath. “Should he attempt to repeat the actions you spoke of in Dorado…”

“Nah, he ain’t that stupid,” Jesse said. “Athena’d fry his ass before he swung out that pulse rifle. Plus with Gabe not here…I dunno. I’m spittin’ mad, but I don’t think he’s here t’start a fight.”

“I am still… _hesitant,”_ Hanzo griped.

“I know, darlin’. That’s why I’m lucky t’have you. Always lookin’ out for me,” Jesse grinned, kissing his temple. Hanzo smiled softly and nuzzled into his jaw. Despite his relative calm, Jesse could feel an unbelievable amount of tension under his shoulders where his arm laid across. This surprise vacation couldn’t come soon enough.

“Hey…before all this, Winston called me in. Said he had a mission for us.”

“Oh?” Hanzo asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “And I am included?”

“I said ‘us’, now didn’t I?” the cowboy winked. “Didn’t get much of the details ‘bout what it entails, but I reckon it’ll be about a week.”

“Has he mentioned where?” Hanzo asked.

“Th’ good ol’ US of A,” Jesse said, tipping his hat back. “Southwest. Mentioned somethin’ about scopin’ out some trouble down there. Doesn’t sound too strenuous, though. Winston’s still iffy ‘bout you strainin’ yourself too soon. Me too, actually.” It sounded legitimate. And from the expression on Hanzo’s face, he bought it, which made Jesse heave a sigh of relief.  

“Hm,” Hanzo hummed, but eventually nodded. “I will pack accordingly. When do we move out?”

“Couple of days,” Jesse said with a shrug. He’d already made the arrangements and everything was all set – his buddy would stop off at the cabin to turn on the hot water heater, electricity and all of the other amenities. Jesse shoved him a little extra to stock the pantry too. All that was left were the guests.

“So soon?” Hanzo asked, startled all of a sudden. Jesse cocked his head in confusion. Hanzo had never shown reluctance to news of a quick departure before. Maybe he was nervous thanks to his long recovery time.

“I…can ask him if we could hold off…?” Jesse offered, though it was the last thing he wanted. But it would do absolutely _no_ good to drag Hanzo off to relax if he refused to do so. Whether he knew it or not, the archer was calling the shots on this one.

“No, no,” Hanzo said, holding up a hand much to Jesse’s relief. “It is just less time than I anticipated. But I can make adjustments.”

Jesse leaned down to give him a quick peck to the lips, only to lean back down when it didn’t prove to be enough to satisfy him. Hanzo smiled against his mouth in that soft, ‘just for Jesse’ kind of way before parting and heading off. The cowboy watched him go, eyes lingering on his backside, before he let out a low whistle and fanned himself with his hat.

Well, now that that was taken care of, he had _other_ fat to chew before he could kick his feet up. Business before pleasure and all that jazz.

And he _definitely_ had business with a certain vision-impaired party crasher concerning the current whereabouts of his spooky boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

 

Winston had given Jack a room near the front of the hall, situated equidistant from anything and everything he might need. He’d taken his visor for immediate repair, offered Athena’s assistance, signed him up for a probationary code to get into the training facilities – for all intents and purposes, it appeared that the scientist was going above and beyond to be a gracious host.

But some knew better. They were the ones that had been there at the very beginning. They’d seen Winston rise to the challenge of running the renewed Overwatch. They’d seen him jump through hoops, both legal and technical, gather the remnants of what was once lost to the ages, staple, tape and grind it all back together.

Even some who _hadn’t_ been there since its rebirth could see the kind of stress Winston had overcome.

Hanzo, for example, had had no intention of going to the ape’s lab for any other reason than to acquire more details about this new mission. But the loud muttering and the flashing of electrical sparks seen from beyond the doorframe had him slowing his pace and reconsidering his timing.

Winston clearly hadn’t realized that his door was still open, nor did he pick up on the fact that he was _loudly_ grumbling under his breath around a large spoonful of peanut butter while he soldered some wires together within Jack’s visor. He also didn’t notice when the archer filled up the open doorframe until he chose to rap his knuckles against the solid frame.

In his surprise, the spoon fell from his mouth and onto the visor, which promptly resulted in Winston burning the tip of his finger.

“ _Agh!”_ Winston hissed, shaking his hand. “That _smarts.”_

“I apologize! I did not mean to…” Hanzo began, bending in a short bow. “…do you need assistance?”

“No, no,” Winston said with a forced smile, shaking his head. “You don’t work with dangerous things as long as I have without being burned at least once.”

He let his smile drop a bit faster than usual and went back to examining the visor with newfound focus, turning it over while pretending that his finger didn’t sting like a bitch.

“What can I do for you, Agent Shimada?”

Hanzo opened his mouth to launch into the barrage of questions he’d prepared in his head on the walk over, but found himself hesitating, both in his words and in his entry to the room. He remained by the doorway, eyes on Winston speculatively.

“You are concerned. About Jack Morrison’s return.”

Winston flinched. It could have been because of the way Hanzo said it, with that unerring confidence and sharp perception. Or it could have been because Winston was doing his best to ignore the idea until it was spilled into the air by one of the _last_ people he’d expected to care. Either way, Hanzo could only arch an eyebrow as the ape quickly recovered himself and forced that insincere smile back into place.

“There isn’t anything to be concerned about,” Winston chuckled mirthlessly. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“His reemergence does not negate your status as leader amongst us,” Hanzo continued. “I hope you know that.”

Winston bit down on his lip and turned his eyes away, setting the visor to the side and resting his elbows on the table.

“He is Commander.”

“ _Was_ Commander,” Hanzo corrected. “And although you have refused the title on more than one occasion, you are the closest thing myself and the other newer members have known since becoming a part of Overwatch.”

“And _you_ did all of it without a statue,” came a female voice from behind. Fareeha entered the room with a polite smile and exchanged a nod with Hanzo before folding her arms. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, we were just…” Winston started, before sighing. “You both really think that?”

“I do not make a habit of lying to spare the feelings of others,” Hanzo said, earning a smirk and a roll of the eyes from Fareeha.

“Of course, big guy,” she said. “I mean, I’m happy Jack’s alive and all, but let’s face facts. From what Jesse told us, Gabe and Jack were shacked up and aware of Overwatch’s recall for some time. Gabe took the shady route – which is pretty predictable if you think about it – but what did Jack do?”

“Nothing,” Hanzo said.

“Right,” she said. “Winston, I’m not going to fall behind a Commander who won’t answer the call when things are their most desperate. I’ll admit that I’m sure he had his reasons, but whoever Jack _was_ …”

“You are the only Commander Overwatch needs,” Hanzo finished. “You issued the recall. You have facilitated every mission since. You have maintained Athena, as well as most of the crucial equipment that has kept us all alive. Jack Morrison’s presence here at the Watchpoint will change none of that.”

Winston couldn’t help but adjust his glasses bashfully, his eyes on the table. One couldn’t help but think that if he wasn’t covered in fur, he would probably be blushing up a storm. But instead, he just softly smiled and wiped a broad thumb under his eye.

“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat. “I…that means a lot.”

“It’s the truth,” Fareeha said with a nonchalant shrug and a playful wink. “You’re the best dad we’ve ever had!”

“Okay, okay, very funny,” Winston groaned, picking up the visor again. “But now that you’ve turned me into a sentimental fool, did you need anything?”

“Nope. Just came to make sure you were alright,” Fareeha said. “I’m just happy Shimada here beat me to the punch.” She nudged Hanzo in the arm and met his stern frown with a broad grin. “Guess you’re a big softy like Jesse says after all.”

Hanzo scowled a little harder at that, but went a little pink in the cheeks regardless. Fareeha just laughed out loud and tossed a wave over her shoulder as she exited.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything, Agent Shimada?” Winston asked, his smile infinitely more happy and real than before. Once again, Hanzo opened his mouth to begin questioning the mission…

…but found himself remaining silent.

“...I am sure,” Hanzo said instead, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “I am just happy that you are feeling better.”

The scientist seemed genuinely surprised by that, and his smile only widened. Hanzo tried desperately to tamp down on the warm, fuzzy feeling that sprouted from that honest reaction, but it came unbidden nonetheless.

“Well…let me know if anything comes up,” Winston said. “And…thank you. I, uh… I really appreciate it.”

“It is nothing,” the archer said turning to slide from the room. “…Commander.”

“I’m _not_ the…” Winston started, but then stopped, snapped his mouth shut, and laughed lightly. Hanzo could only smirk to himself as he pressed the switch to let the door slide shut.

  

* * *

 

 

The cowboy gave Jack a grace period of three hours before he was stomping down the hall towards his room. It was his staunch opinion that Jack had had ten _years_ of grace period already. It was only because of Jesse’s kind and patient nature that he’d received any more than that. Or something. It was probably one of those things that sounded better in his head than it did out loud.

Jack seemed to know he was coming, because he had the door slid open before Jesse even turned the corner. He still didn’t have his visor back, so when Jesse finally took stock of the older man, he was sitting on his meager cot with his eyes towards the floor of the doorframe.

“Woulda thought you’d have grown out of those spurs,” Jack commented dryly. It would have been something of a joke if Jack’s expression didn’t seem so dour. But that was the Jack he remembered from way back when. The one that didn’t want him there in the first place. The one that only Gabe could crack.

“Can’t mess with the classics. You of all people should know that, bein’ a relic yourself an’ all,” Jesse shot back.

“Ouch,” Jack grumbled. But he gestured to the folding chair beside the empty desk anyway. Jesse flicked his eyes to it suspiciously, but made his way over, taking care to leave the door open.

“I didn’t come here to kill you, kid,” Jack said, finding the idea almost laughable. “Even if I had, you really think I’d pick a dorm on the base to do it in? Don’t think I don’t realize that Winston has Athena watching me.”

“She watches everyone,” McCree said. “An’ he told her to help you.”

“Bullshit,” Jack snorted. “I’m not _senile._ ”

“I ain’t here to discuss your fuckin’ frame of mind, old man,” Jesse grunted. “Or whether or not Winston’s got you tagged. Personally, I think it’d be a smart fuckin’ idea if he _did_ , considerin’ the amazin’ amount of loyalty you’ve shown to Overwatch thus far…”

“You and I _both_ know the circumstances-“

“ _But_ …” Jesse cut him off, frowning deeply. “…I only came here for you to answer _one_ question. And that’s ‘where is he?’ An’ don’t tell me ‘I don’t know,’ because we both know that’s a lie. I learned about _those_ from the best.”

Jesse could tell from the slight jerk of Jack’s shoulders that that stung on Gabriel’s behalf. But Jack was always the stoic soldier. He pointed his unfocused eyes in Jesse’s direction and narrowed them.

“I _don’t_ know where he is.”

Jesse made a show of standing up by scraping the metal legs of the chair against the floor.

“Wait. You aren’t letting me finish.”

“I don’t have to,” Jesse growled. “I could give two shits about what you have to say if it don’t involve him.”

“I said I didn’t know where he was. And that’s the truth,” Jack said. “After Egypt and the failed cargo infiltration, he pulled me aside. Told me I had to come back here and face everyone. That he was dragging me down with him towards a place he said he wouldn’t be able to come back from. And trust me, kid, I argued. I argued with that stubborn son of a bitch for three days. You can ask the hacker, if you can manage to find her again. She was there.”

“Sombra?” Jesse asked. “She was with you two in Egypt?”

“The idea was that she was going to swoop in and knock out any sort of tracking devices Helix could have used on us. Or you guys, for that matter. But we never got that far.”

Jesse couldn’t help but be thrown back to that rooftop overlooking a destroyed cargo unit. Gabe standing near him in that Reaper getup, sounding so…frail. Confused. _Human._

He’d called him mijo.

“Yeah,” Jesse said, softer than before. “Yeah I know.”

There was a quiet that settled between them then, both lost in their own thoughts regarding a man with dark curls, a snarky sense of humor and a sense of secret selflessness that no one could touch. Jesse couldn’t help but wonder what was passing through Jack’s mind, having spent the better part of ten years exiled with him. Sharing secrets probably didn’t even touch it. They probably shared _novels_ worth of intrigues and hidden mementos.

“He just told me he couldn’t take anyone with him anymore,” Jack said, sounding distant. “He said something had happened. Something that changed things. I can only assume that he ran into one of you.”

“On the roof,” Jesse said. “Just for a minute.”

“Figures,” Jack sighed. “He always did have a soft spot for you.”

“Someone had to,” Jesse said back with ire.

“Like I said, I didn’t come here to start a fight,” Jack said, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m not even really sure _why_ I came here. All I know is, Gabe thought it was a good idea. And…well he’s _Gabe_ , so…”

“So you think it was the best idea out there,” Jesse finished for him. “Yeah, I know how that goes. Though I can’t say I think joinin’ up with Talon was one of his better ones.”

“You and me both,” Jack agreed. “But by the time we met back up, he was already neck deep with them. I told him countless times to back out – to come up with something _else_. But eventually he convinced me that it was the best option. Just like I now think coming here was the best option.”

“An’ you’re sayin’ you really have _no_ idea where he is?” Jesse asked incredulously. “He just up and shoved you out the door an’…that’s it?”

“Not quite that simple,” Jack said. Jesse nodded slowly. Gabriel rarely made _anything_ that simple. “After we talked, he left for a few days. No note, no message. Not _unusual_ , but this time it felt different. Like he needed the time for himself. _That_ was the unusual part. Gabe never took time for himself, even back when things were…normal.

One night he just…climbs back into bed. Like he hadn’t been gone in the first place. And he just…holds onto me. Doesn’t say anything except for a ‘yes’ here or a ‘no’ there, but I’m just so happy he’s back that I don’t press him. I really should have. I really, _really_ should have.”

“Gone the next mornin’, huh?” Jesse guessed. Jack raised an eyebrow, but then nodded slowly. “Jus’…the way you worded it. He’d always make a habit of disappearin’ right after he got all weird like that,” Jesse said, biting down on the end of his blunt cigarillo. “I’m surprised you never noticed.”

“Guess I didn’t notice a lot of things back then,” Jack lamented. “But that’s the end of my story, kid. He and that hacker bailed out before I even had a chance to get my bearings on the situation. I don’t know where he is or what he’s up to. My guess is he’s still going to try to get back in Talon’s good graces. My second guess is that it’s probably not going to be pretty, since he’s going at it alone.”

“So you’re really here to enlist help,” Jesse said. “Not because you suddenly had some change of heart.”

“I don’t expect you to like it,” Jack said gruffly. “And that’s not the _only_ reason but…yes, I was hoping Overwatch could…”

“I’ll talk to Winston about it,” Jesse said without hesitation. Jack blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“I said I’d run it past Winston,” Jesse repeated. “What, you deaf _and_ blind?”

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” Jack said uneasily.

“I don’t.”

“So then why help me at all?”

“Because believe it or not, Morrison, that asshole you’re in love with was the only damn family I had for a _really_ long time. Which makes _you_ part of that family too, _unfortunately._ Ten years and a whole lotta bad decisions ain’t gonna change that, no matter how much I would absolutely _love_ it to. So yeah, I still think you’re a dick for abandonin’ your team. But I also think I’m a better man than that. So I reckon I’ll help.”

Jack just…sat there. His hands were fisted on his knees and his expression was unreadable. Jesse decided that that meant the conversation was over, so he stood up again and let the chair slide out from under him. This time Jack didn’t stop him. He let the cowboy get all the way back over to the door before he spoke again.

“You grew up good, kid,” he said, his voice a bit coarser than it had been a second ago.

“Yeah, well. Losin’ your heroes means y’gotta be your own,” Jesse said after a moment’s pause.

“Heroes never die, kid,” Jack said cryptically.

“Nah,” Jesse agreed. “They just change. An’ disappear.”

And he left Jack alone, spurs disappearing into the distance down the hall.  

“Hope you know what you’re doing, Gabe,” Jack murmured into the open air.

Only silence greeted him.

  

* * *

 

 

“You should have come to me sooner. I had no idea you were having these… _complications.”_

The voice was even and the words deliberately spoken. Each syllable was rolled off the tongue like syrup, planned and poised. It gave the distinct impression that, whoever it was, inherently knew more than who they were speaking to. All the while they were tapping the end of a pen against a clipboard, not in impatience but in _anticipation._

“If I wanted nagging, I would have gotten married instead of enlisting,” the subject responded. This voice was wholly different – the words were snarled back and clipped, full of contempt. Then again, given their history, it was hardly unexpected. In fact, most would say the tone was fully warranted.

And anyone who knew him knew that Gabe had a hard time keeping his anger on a leash.

“The only reason I’m here is to see if you can help make it… _better.”_

The tapping on the clipboard stopped all at once.

“Better?” they asked. Anyone else might have confused the lilting way the word was said with fondness. Gabe knew better. Fondness would have required some level of affection. In this case, there simply wasn’t enough there to work with. Instead, it was more _amusement_ than anything; the kind you’d witness on the face of someone looking at a bug through glass. Interested but uncaring. It made Gabe’s skin crawl more than it already did on its own.

“That is quite a subjective term, Gabriel,” they finally said, setting down the clipboard before sliding it away. “But, you are in luck. I do believe I can make you ‘better.’”

“This isn’t like last time,” Gabe said quickly, spinning on his heel. “I’m not here to play guinea pig.”

“Breakthroughs can’t occur without testing, Gabriel,” they said, clicking their tongue. “If you are expecting me to find a solution without some experimentation involved, you will be sorely disappointed. And there will be setbacks. You want to prove your worth to Talon, don’t you? And to do it quickly?”

He couldn’t argue with that.

Work had to be done. Powers had to be dismantled.

And he couldn’t do that from the outside.

Not like he was.

Suddenly, he started, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Long, spindly fingers tapped stiletto fingernails practically against his collarbone. White, slender fingers resembled their owner in the fluorescent lights of the examination room.

“Sacrifices must be made,” they said with a prim smile. “But I assure you, given your potential…they will be worth it.”

Gabriel looked down at his hands slowly, watching the skin fade in and out of existence. Bone came and went, skin shimmered and puckered and rolled like water. He thought of Jesse. Of Genji. Of those poor fools in Overwatch, surging against an enemy they couldn’t possibly handle.

He thought of Jack.

_Oh Jack._

“Just…get it over with,” he eventually said, defeated. He propped himself back against the examination table, eyes low.

The figure behind him smiled wider and slid their hand away like the receding tide.

“Brilliant. Let’s begin, then.”

  

* * *

 

 

It took an eleven hour plane ride to make it to Santa Fe from Gibraltar.

Much to Lena’s credit, she’d managed to keep the chitchat to a minimum at Jesse’s insistence. The less Hanzo knew, the better he told her, and despite thinking it was a _terrible_ idea to keep things from the one you’re supposed to love, she went along with it. It was for a good cause ultimately, and Hanzo, if it were possible, had gotten _worse_ the closer they had gotten to the ‘mission.’ By the time they were on their way, Lena was more than willing to cooperate if it meant getting him off base for a week.

Said archer had bounced his legs impatiently the entire ride. It was unusual behavior, even for him, who was prone to silent meditation or reading. But, given the circumstances, Jesse could cut him some slack. Being on a plane for the first time in months probably didn’t help matters much either. It was probably just nerves. Or excitement at the prospect of being sent out on ‘business.’ Or a little of both.

Jesse was almost dreading the moment Hanzo caught on that it would be anything _but_ business. But he needed this. They _both_ needed this.

After landing and a quick passing of winks between Lena and Jesse, the pair set out.

Easily enough, Jesse rented a busted red pick-up truck from a guy who smelled like he sweat cheap cologne. Jesse was half-expecting Hanzo to make a comment about his vehicle of choice after giving it a once-over, but the snark never came.

He just slid into the passenger’s seat with his bag over his lap while Jesse cocked his head to the side and tossed his in the bed.

“Don’tcha wanna stow that in the stern, darlin’?” Jesse asked as he slammed the door shut and ran his hands over the steering wheel. God, they didn’t _make_ ones like this anymore. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and leather. Like _home._

“I am comfortable, thank you,” Hanzo said with a smile that didn’t _quite_ reach his eyes. He immediately broke eye contact to look out the window. His legs started bouncing again.

Jesse chewed on the side of his cheek and then leaned forward to turn the key. With a few pops and a rumble, the engine came to life and blasted smoke out the back with a crack. The wheels rolled along the dirt at the edge of the lot before bumping up onto the pavement. The touchpad crackled to life in the dashboard, all shades of green.

“Asshole was able to install a shitty computer system but couldn’t throw a new coat a’paint on the ol’ girl? Makes a whole lot of sense,” Jesse muttered, huffing out a tired laugh. “This thing is probably older than Jack.”

“Mm,” Hanzo said, sounding distracted and distant. One hand was propping his chin up while the other clutched at his bag like he was afraid it would float into the air. Jesse tapped his fingers on the cracked steering wheel as his attempt at innocent banter was ignored.

Okay, so maybe it was time to let the cat out of the bag.

“Han.”

“Mm?” Hanzo hummed, his eyes still on the road. His undercut had been freshly shaved and his scars were shiny under the afternoon sun. _Beautiful._

“I…got a confession t’make,” Jesse said with a nervous chuckle.

“Are you finally going to tell me why we are _really_ here?” Hanzo asked, allowing his eyes to slide to Jesse’s reflection in the window. The cowboy coughed.

“Shit. Am I really that transparent?”

“I learned long ago how to read your tells,” Hanzo said, adjusting his position against the seat into something more comfortable before turning his head completely. Reaching out, he tapped a gentle finger at Jesse’s temple, making the distracted gunslinger start and then visibly relax at the unexpected contact.

“You get a twitch here when you are attempting to lie,” Hanzo explained. The finger then trailed to his jaw and ran along it. Jesse barely squashed down the urge to _purr._ “And your jaw becomes very tight, as though you were attempting to crush the truth between your molars.”

“Why didn’t you say anythin’?” Jesse asked, flicking his eyes back and forth between the stretch of road ahead and the man sitting next to him. Hanzo shrugged and let his hands fall back into his lap where they twisted the strap of his bag into a knot.

“Because I trust you,” he said simply. “You would not have kept it from me if you did not have a good reason.”

“The _best_ kinda reason, actually,” Jesse grinned, loving the warm feeling blossoming from his stomach from Hanzo’s candor. “We ain’t here to work. We’re here to _relax.”_

 “Here?” Hanzo asked, mildly incredulous. Jesse managed to not feel slighted over that one. He had to take it with a grain of salt, after all – once they had gotten a few miles out, the desert stretched before them. Nothing but clay and brush, with tall, striped plateaus in the distance. Familiar to him, but to someone like Hanzo…

“Hey, you wanted to come here, remember?” Jesse chuckled instead. “Wanted to see my ol’ stompin’ grounds.”

Hanzo perked up at that.

“This is…Santa Fe?”

“The outskirts, yeah,” Jesse said with a wink. “The Rio’s further west, Deadlock gorge is a little before that. But we ain’t headin’ that way. Got a nice little cabin set up for us a little further up. Closer to the mountains. Ain’t far.”

“You…set up a cabin?” Hanzo asked.

“Well…not me _specifically_. One of my ol’ contacts,” Jesse clarified, feeling a little nervous himself. He chewed on the inside of his lower lip when Hanzo just kept staring at him. “You ain’t… _mad_ , are you?”

Hanzo opened his mouth to launch a quip. Jesse waited for it like the lash of a whip, cringing a little. He probably deserved it, all things considered. He’d packed a severely traumatized man, barely after recovery, into a plane with little to no information. What information he _did_ provide was false. But he had to understand, didn’t he?

A sudden kiss to the cheek was his answer. Hanzo was practically _beaming._

Well, as close to beaming as Hanzo could get, anyway.

“Of course I am not mad, Jesse,” the archer said. “This is a wonderful surprise.”

“You’ve just been so… _stressed_ is all,” Jesse said with a wave of his hand. “An’ I promised you a vacation. I just knew gettin’ you outta there for anythin’ less than a promise of business and danger would take a crowbar.”

Hanzo was quiet again, but he’d at least moved his hand into Jesse’s, threading their fingers. It was a step in the right direction, surely, but his knee was still bouncing and his fingers were still holding onto his bag like it was a lifeline.

“Y’know…people normally _lose_ tension when they’re told they’re on vacation, sugar.”

That seemed to bring it to his attention, at least. The archer’s knee stilled and his grip relaxed.

“I apologize,” he said with a soft sigh.

“Ain’t those headaches still, is it?” Jesse asked. The long pause was one he was familiar with in response to the question. Hanzo was about as willing to divulge information about his health as he was to have a tooth pulled with no anesthetic. Jesse could tell by the way his grip tightened that this wasn’t going to be any different.

“No,” Hanzo said simply, turning his head again. “Dr. Zeigler’s medication has been handling the situation.”

“You’d tell me if they were gettin’ worse…right?” Jesse asked, offering a gentle squeeze himself.

“Of course,” Hanzo said without thinking. Somehow, they both understood it was a lie, but both were willing to pretend for a while.

This was their vacation. They could face harsh realities later. Preferably _never_ , but definitely later.

The ancient GPS beeped a quick message, letting them know they were close to their destination. Jesse, for one, was happy for the opportunity to change the subject. He smiled broadly, slid his hand from Hanzo’s and pulled off his hat to fan himself with it. The sun would be setting in a few hours, but that still did nothing to quell the heat. He’d be acclimated again in days, but the initial climate had him sweating.

“There she is,” he said happily. “Our home away from home. Our little piece of paradise. The love nest. A desert oasis-“

“ _Stop,”_ Hanzo said with a huff of laughter. Jesse pouted.

“But I got one more.”

A pause, and then: “…get it out of your system, then.”

“Our _romantic rendezvous_ ,” Jesse said, wiggling his eyebrows. Hanzo rolled his eyes so hard, the cowboy wouldn’t be surprised if he could see the back of his skull. The appropriate reaction, honestly, and one he loved pulling from him.

“Silly cowboy.”

“Sexy lil’ archer,” Jesse shot back, turning the wheel. Hanzo barked out a laugh again. Jesse was suddenly floating above the dirt path they were traversing. He was so in love it _hurt_ , and from the way Hanzo wiggled his fingers until Jesse took his hand again, the feeling was mutual. As soon as Jesse had set the truck down towards the cabin, he went back to having one hand on the wheel, the other tangled with Hanzo’s.

The cabin itself, unlike the truck, was only _deceptively_ old.

Jesse’s friend described it briefly to him while he’d strategized this whole endeavor. It wasn’t a damn mansion by any means, but as far as desert cabins went, all the amenities were included. Small laundry unit, stocked refrigerator, stainless steel appliances. One big bed, one small couch, and one _huge_ television.

And, last but not least, one jacuzzi. Jesse had pressed for one of those. Had even been ready to offer cash so his buddy could buy one if the cabin didn’t have one already. Since the dude rented it out as a tourist spot anyway, it wasn’t necessary. Jesse and his wallet were grateful.

Of course, none of this really mattered anyway. If Hanzo was up for it, Jesse planned on spending much of the nights under the stars by a campfire. The days they’d spend roaming around the areas where Jesse’s face _wasn’t_ likely to be recognized, traversing the canyons and buying knickknacks.

When they weren’t in bed, that is. Jesse’d come _plenty_ prepared for that too.

The truck eased to a creaky stop next to the small wooden structure, and Jesse jammed the gear into park. Stepping out onto the dusty soil, Jesse actually got the distinct urge to slide his boots off and feel it between his toes. But he had a sneaking suspicion Hanzo’d turn his nose up at that, and shit, this was all about him.

Speaking of Hanzo, Jesse once again expected some sardonic comment about the state of the building, or maybe the fact that they were a hundred miles from nowhere. The cowboy slammed his door shut, grinned brightly, and put his hands on his hips, fully ready to defend his choice of locale.

But nothing came. Hanzo simply raised one elegant eyebrow upwards, looked the cabin up and down like he had when he and Jesse had first met, and then looked to Jesse expectantly.

“Uh,” Jesse started, chuckling nervously. “Ta da? She’s…she’s nicer than she looks on the outside, I swear-“

“I did not say anything,” Hanzo said, bemused. But, after a moment, a different expression crossed his face. One that looked almost…nervous? “Is it all one room?”

“Why, you worried about decency or somethin’?” Jesse joked, leaning both elbows onto the hood of the truck. A bad idea, and one that he instantly regretted since the sun had been blasting the thing all damn day and it was hot as hell. He jumped up straight and shook his flesh arm out with a hiss, but when he remembered Hanzo was still watching him, attempted to play it off. Nice one, Jesse McCree.

It didn’t matter anyway. Hanzo had seen it, obviously. Mercifully, he didn’t say anything. In fact, it seemed to do the trick with removing that nervous furrow to his brow. Leave it to Jesse to fix something by accidentally being a dumbass.

“No…I am simply…” Hanzo began, actively searching for words. “There might be times when _privacy_ may be desired.”

Jesse wasn’t sure if he should be hurt by that, but the pang of it appeared all the same. Thankfully this time his face was hidden as he slung his bag from the bed of the truck, so he didn’t have to bother covering his expression as much as his tone.

“Nah, the bedroom’s got a door. Least I think so. Wouldn’t put it past Frank t’lie just to sell the place, so we’ll just have t’see.”

Hanzo shifted his rucksack up a little more firmly in his grip and grunted noncommittally. Suddenly Jesse wasn’t _entirely_ sure this ‘secluded week alone’ was the right way to go. Maybe it would’ve been a better option to take Hanzo to dinner someplace fancy, or maybe cruise back to Hanamura. Jesse had been breathing down Hanzo’s neck since they’d gotten him back. Could Hanzo have been looking for an opportunity for a mission so he could take a breather? _Shit._ Now this whole thing seemed so presumptuous.

It didn’t get any better when they stepped inside. The cabin was littered with stereotypical desert aesthetic, making Jesse roll his eyes. A bleached cow skull hung above a stone fireplace, paintings of cowboys and cattle covered practically every available wall. Jesse even spied a few brightly painted clay lizards on the coffee table in front of the terra cotta-colored couch. Holy _hell._

“I am tired,” Hanzo declared suddenly. “I believe I will take a nap.”

“Oh. Don’tcha wanna maybe take a look around first?” Jesse asked as the archer breezed past him towards the bedroom door a few feet past the living area. “Sun’ll be down soon. Thought maybe we could-“

“After,” Hanzo said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I promise, Jesse. In fact, perhaps you could build us a fire outside? I would love to watch the sunset when I wake up.”

“…sure,” Jesse said, forcing a smile onto his face. “Will do, pumpkin. Sleep well.”

Hanzo nodded and shut the door, and Jesse’s heart _sank._

Across the room, an ugly watercolor of a buffalo stared at him unblinkingly. He wrinkled his nose at it, dropped his bag down at the threshold, and grumbled. The welcome mat was folded up at a corner, and Jesse kicked at it with the toe of his boot.

“Romantic rendezvous my _ass.”_

   


* * *

 

 

A few hours later, sure enough, the sky had faded from a bright cerulean to a faded pink. In the distance, Jesse could hear some coyotes yipping at the approaching night, and the faint glow of the city proper.

He’d found a small woodpile around the back, which was mighty helpful, though he honestly wasn’t above gathering nearby brush into something useable. He needed something to calm his thoughts anyway, so the tedium of the task would have been welcomed. Oh well – it wasn’t like he was escaping his worries anytime soon. He’d tried to outrun them for more than a decade; by comparison, fretting over his boyfriend seemed miniscule.

Hanzo finally emerged from the cabin, like clockwork, when the sun was just settling into a crouch atop one of the far plateaus. Jesse was in a similar position, poking the meager flames he’d created with a stick while they crackled and spit. He had eventually given into the urge to take off his shoes and was wiggling his toes into the dirt while his eyes reflected the embers. Upon seeing the archer, though, he stood and dropped the stick like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Howdy, honey,” he said with a soft smile, tipping his hat back. “Ya sleep well? Didn’t wake ya with any of my fussin’ out here, did I?”

“No, of course not,” Hanzo said, carefully stepping out.

In all honesty, he didn’t appear to have slept at all. Even in this light, Jesse could make out the deep circles under his eyes and the stiff, tense way he carried himself.

And he still had his goddamn bag slung under one arm.

“Okay, what’s with the bag?” Jesse had to finally ask when Hanzo passed him to sit beside the fire. Was that a flinch he just saw? He was pretty sure it was, but Hanzo smoothed himself out with a shrug as he set it gently beside him and gave it a pat.

“Storm bow,” he said lightly. “I had been planning to perform some necessary maintenance to it while we relaxed.”

Jesse was hit with a wave of disappointment for the second time that day. Watching Hanzo restring his bow was _not_ how he imagined this night going, and the idea of wasting a perfectly good sunset like this ate at him. But, again, he had to remind himself. This trip wasn’t about him. This was about Hanzo.

“Oh,” he said, turning his eyes back to the flames. “Sure. As good a time for it as any.”

They sat like that, sharing the quiet between them, for a few good minutes. Jesse sighed heavily and did his best to appreciate the stars, the way the air smelled, and the simple fact that he was with Hanzo, no matter the capacity. That helped his heartache a little. But only a little.

“Jesse?” Hanzo asked from his seat a few feet away. He’d let go of the bag, finally, and hadn’t made any motion to unzip it. But he was _fidgeting._ Jesse hadn’t seen Hanzo fidget this much since…well, _ever._ It just wasn’t something he _did._

Was he really that uncomfortable?

“…yeah, sug?” he asked, taking a deep breath through his nose. They could always leave in the morning, he supposed. Maybe it was the cabin. Maybe things would be better if he got them a nice hotel room in the city somewhere instead. He began to play through possible scenarios, and almost missed when Hanzo spoke again.

“I am…a bit cold. Would you mind retrieving the blanket from the back of the couch inside?”

Oh. Well that wasn’t so bad. Jesse could do that.

“Back in a jiff,” Jesse said with a smile and a wink, brushing the dust from his pants before stalking inside.

He’d only barely closed the door when he realized there _wasn’t_ a blanket hanging from the back of the couch. He furrowed his brow and began to look, but eventually put a hand to his hip and scratched his scalp under his hat. Well, shit.

Maybe this was a good time to suggest snuggling close. For body heat.

“Hey, babe, I didn’t see a…blanket…”

He was greeted by a box at his feet – no wrapping paper, but tied with an orange ribbon. And Hanzo was nowhere in sight.

Immediately, Jesse’s first instinct was to go into panic mode. Hanzo not being in his line of sight while they were in the middle of nowhere was an idea that plagued Jesse’s nightmares.

“Hanzo?” he called to the open air, picking up the package.

“I am here, cowboy,” came the response from near the side of the cabin and out of sight. “Read the note aloud and I will come out when you are finished.”

Jesse pulled a face. The hell? This was a little weird. _More_ than a little. But he knew Hanzo well enough to do as he said, as odd as the request was.

There was a little folded note atop the package with Jesse’s name scrawled across it in what he recognized immediately as Hanzo’s swirling cursive. In one hand he balanced the box and in the other he flipped the paper open between two fingers, relying on the light from the open door behind him to provide enough to see by.

“’Dear Jesse,’” he started, feeling pretty foolish to be saying something like that out loud to himself. Shaking his head, he continued. “’…’til I met you, I considered myself an army of one. I was ready to take on the world alone, free from th’burdens of emotional attachment. Happiness was not a luxury I could afford.’ Han, what is this?” he interrupted himself, giving a soft, nervous chuckle.

“Proceed,” Hanzo ordered from his hiding place. Jesse sighed and went back to the note, utterly confused.

“’…little did I know that happiness would soon find me, poured into the form of a cowboy with…with an endless abundance of patience, a smile to rival a sunny day, an’ a heart big enough for two.’”

Jesse’s face softened at that, and he had to pause a little to suck in a breath while he read.

“’I love you, Jesse McCree. From the tips of yer toes to the top of yer hat. I love th’way yer eyes look when you first wake up in the mornin’, an’ the way your arms feel when I’m bundled up in ‘em. I love the way yer face lights up when you see me, an’ the way I can’t get enough of hearin’ you laugh. I could spend all day listin’ everythin’ I love about you, Jesse McCree, but I fear there isn’t enough paper in the world t’get the job done. So instead, I’ll offer this:   
  
                                                                           Roses are red,  
                                                                           Violets are blue,  
                                                                           Please open this box,   
                                                                           An’ see what I saved from you.’”

 

Jesse didn’t know how it was possible, but he could barely move and yet not move fast enough, all at the same time. He folded the note into his palm and shuffled the box over his arm until he could untie the bow and lift the lid.

Inside were three things:

A small stuffed cat with a blue ribbon. A small gold necklace with a bow and arrow pendant. The blossom of an orange tiger lily, dried and pressed between two pieces of clear paper.

“You…you got ‘em all back from Hana?” Jesse asked with a brighter-than-bright smile.

“After our first night together,” Hanzo said, his voice suddenly in front of him. Damn his ability to move around undetected. “I have kept them ever since. As reminders for what we have. But, unfortunately, I have gotten _greedy_ as of late. I would like more.”

“Aw, honey, you shoulda said so!” Jesse laughed, setting the lid back down and lifting his head to look at his archer. “I love buyin’ you…gifts…”

Sure enough, there was Hanzo, bathed in the dim light of the fire behind him.

Down on one knee.

Jesse felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse.

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo said, sounding as if he had to _force_ his voice to be steady. “You have brought me from the brink of destruction, time and time again. ‘Incomplete’ is a harsh understatement of how my life would be were you to leave it. With this, I offer you a piece of myself.”

Pale fingers carefully lifted a nondescript wooden box up before Hanzo’s face before lifting the lid.

There, nestled in some black velvet, sat a ring. A polished little piece of perfection that stole the words from Jesse’s throat before he even had enough time to form them.

“Please,” Hanzo said, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Will you marry me?”

Time stood still. In fact, time ceased to exist as a concept for Jesse in _general_. He was floating and falling and ricocheting back and forth all at the same time. He had to put a conscious effort into breathing – his lungs just didn’t seem too keen on the idea, not when this beautiful creature was down on one knee before him reverently, begging to be part of his life forever.

“Yes,” he finally squeaked out, the response too soft to even be _considered_ an acknowledgement from Jesse McCree. His eyes were blurry. When had he started crying?

“ ** _Yes_!” ** he finally bellowed, dropping the box unceremoniously to gather Hanzo up into his arms. “My god, Hanzo, _yes._ Fuck _,_ a million times _yes.”_

He felt Hanzo relax all over and sigh into his neck as Jesse spun him around. Then they were laughing. Then they were kissing. And then they were laughing again.

Hanzo lifted Jesse’s mechanical palm with his own and, with a light in his eyes, slipped the blue-tinted band onto his finger. Jesse was awed at the perfect way it fit, stared at the way it gathered the light and rippled it back in blue and silver tones. He ran his flesh fingers over it, memorizing the smoothness. The comfortable weight as he slid it on and off, twirling it around his prosthetic finger until it felt like a part of him. It _was_ a part of him. _Hanzo_ was a part of him.

He didn’t let Hanzo get another word in before he was lifting him up and carrying him off to the bed.

The archer boomed out a joyous laugh as his back hit the mattress, legs wrapped around Jesse’s waist while the cowboy went to town on his neck and peppered kisses over his face.

“I can’t…believe…you did all _this_ …for _me_ ,” Jesse murmured in between pressing his lips to skin. He couldn’t get enough. He would _never_ get enough. And now he had a _lifetime_ to take and take and _take._

“I had planned to wait,” Hanzo breathed, carefully attempting to extricate himself from his clothes to give Jesse more room to work. “But I am sorry. I could not stand it anymore.”

“ _Sorry_?” Jesse laughed, letting his forehead rest against Hanzo’s chest. “You make me the happiest man in the world an’ you’re _sorry_? Oh, darlin’, you’re the most beautiful, fuckin’ _gorgeous_ , amazin’-“

Hanzo yanked Jesse up by the collar and into a kiss. The gunslinger happily obliged, grinning like an idiot.

They didn’t leave that bed until the following night. The fire outside had burnt out, forgotten, along with Hanzo’s now-empty duffel bag. If Jesse had cared to look, he would notice that Storm bow had not left the bedside, fully strung and assembled.

 

* * *

 

 

Sore and sated, the pair took advantage of that hot tub. It was situated outside past the back door, giving the cowboy and the archer a chance to look at the stars while they moved in close.

Hanzo looked like he had never been more relaxed in his _life_ , his skin littered with hickies and fresh bites as he sank into the depths of the bubbling tub. He settled back against Jesse’s bare chest, closing his eyes, a smile settled on his lips. Easily, the cowboy wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders, though he really couldn’t stand to take his eyes off his ring for more than a few seconds.

“I ain’t gonna wreck it, am I?” he asked softly, burying his nose in Hanzo’s hair. “Bein’ in the water like this?”

“Mm, I should hope not. I have never seen any issues before.”

“Huh?” Jesse asked with a brow raised. “What d’ya mean?”

“It is one of my arrowheads,” Hanzo said with a smile. “I asked Torbjorn to melt it down for me into something useable, as he had the measurements for your hand on file. I was not lying when I said I was offering you a part of myself.”

Jesse brought it up to stare at it again in the moonlight, that stupid, lovesick look still plastered onto his face. Hanzo mimicked the action, bringing his hand up beside Jesse’s. Unlike his, Hanzo’s ring gave off a light silver sheen with gold around the edges.

“Yours looks different,” Jesse said eloquently, his brain fogged by happiness and contentment.

“Mm. I chose one of your bullet shells for mine,” Hanzo said. “I told you I have been greedy lately. I wanted a part of you, as well.”

“Shit, Han, take the whole thing,” Jesse purred, dipping his head to kiss at his shoulder. “All of me. It’s yours.”

“As am I,” Hanzo cooed, turning his head to nuzzle at the shell of McCree’s ear.

They stayed that way until their flesh was pruned and their muscles were mush against the surge of bubbles at their backs. They watched the stars as they drifted lazily above them, and listened to the desert sounds as if they were a gentle lullaby. The evenness in Hanzo’s breathing meant he’d begun to doze. Jesse forced himself to stay awake. He didn’t want this to end.

After the week was done, they would have to face the world again. Danger, intrigue, violence and politics would follow them around, hounding them like dogs begging for scraps. Jesse would hunt for Gabe, and Hanzo for redemption. There would be missions, villains, omnics and weapons. They’d be lucky to get another chance to simply _be_ like this.

But, eyes ghosting over his ring for the umpteenth time that night, Jesse was oddly okay with that. He had a distinct feeling Hanzo would be, too, if it meant being together through it all.

“Hanzo McCree’s got a nice ring to it,” was all Jesse could say, letting his eyes finally close. He could feel more than see Hanzo’s snort.

“As does Jesse Shimada,” he muttered. But Hanzo was smiling against the skin of his chest. And Jesse couldn’t help but smile too.

 

“I love you, my silly cowboy.”

“Love you too, Hanzo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, with that, One Long River is officially done. Done done.   
> I apologize for the long wait on this one. I wanted to make sure I got everything in. 
> 
> I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone who helped me along with this. It would take WAY too long to name everyone, but you know who you are. You have all been immeasurably supportive during this process and I really have NO idea where I'd be without you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I enjoyed providing it for you. Stay tuned for more fics out of me in the next few months. 
> 
>  
> 
> I have a twitter: @heysugarmaddy  
> and a tumblr: sugarmaddy.tumblr.com  
> and a ko-fi if you feel inclined to donate. any little bit helps!: ko-fi.com/sugarmaddy

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [some kind of wonderful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342667) by [Hirocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirocket/pseuds/Hirocket)




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